


Of Heaven and Hell

by LadyCorvidae, roseforthethorns



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: AU, Anal Sex, Angels, Biblical parallels, Blow Jobs, Confessions, Declarations Of Love, Denial, Dirty Talk, Fingering, Friendship, God - Freeform, Groping, Healing, Heaven, Hell, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Murder, Rejection, Repressed love, Sacrifice, Scars, Secret love, Sibling squabbles, Snogging, Swordfighting, Unacknowledged Love, Unrequited Love, Vague mentions of rape/non-con, Wing Kink, Wing!lock, mormor, the Devil - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-12
Updated: 2012-09-18
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:10:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 32,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyCorvidae/pseuds/LadyCorvidae, https://archiveofourown.org/users/roseforthethorns/pseuds/roseforthethorns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Millennia after the Great War and the Fall from Heaven, angels are dying and the Devil is plotting. Will he make it back into Heaven and conquer everything? Or can he be stopped?</p><p>(I own nothing of these characters. All Sherlock rights go to the BBC, Moffat, and Gatiss. I'm just having some fun.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to ladycorvidae for coming up with the idea in the first place and for putting up with me when I pass out in the middle of a conversation and sleep straight through all her attempts to wake me (true story).
> 
> WIP. Will post as am able.

_Death has the wings of a songbird,_

_because that is the way it should be._

_At the close of our day, she's the one who_

_Ushers us into that long sleep with a quiet tune,_

_A chirping word of comfort in our ear that_

_The larks and the nightingales knew long before_

_We thought of words to cage her with._

_Death has the wings of a songbird,_

_And that is the way it should be._

                                          -ladycorvidae

 

She let out a deep breath. This was going to be hard. Well, her job was hard to begin with, but seeing _who_ she had to fetch? It just made it worse. She was half glad that her feathers had fallen long ago because they would have been dropping out one after the other when she got the assignment.

She entered the small home and made her way to the single bed, sitting gently on the edge of it. He looked very much the same, albeit aged, wrinkled, and his hair now silver-white. She gently shook him and he woke up, frowning, his eyes still that bright, piercing blue. They widened when he saw her; part of her job was that everyone knew who she was when their time came.

"It's my time, then?" he asked, his voice still that rich baritone.

She smiled and nodded.

"Very well, specter. Drag me to perdition or what have you," he grumbled.

She laughed softly and took his hand. He seemed confused.

"No, silly," she chided him gently. "I'm not here to drag you to perdition."

"Then what? Out with it. I'm in no mood for your games."

"I'm here to take you Home."


	2. War is Coming

She opened her wings, gliding through the air with a grim expression on her face. This was the third time in a fortnight that she had been summoned to do this particular type of collection. She reached the place she was told to go and her face fell as she recognized the figure that she had been called to tend to.

"Raziel..." she said softly. She sighed and bent to take what was left, and, like the others, there was nothing _to_ take. The divine spark that had inhabited the angel in front of her was gone, like a candle snuffed out.

She went cold. It was no longer a coincidence; this was happening far too often for it to be just an accident. She beat her great black wings and rose through the quiet stillness. She needed to speak to the Metatron. _Now_.

oOoOo

Mycroft was working steadily through the stack of papers on his desk when the knock came. "Enter, Molly."

Molly went on one knee in deference before rising. "Sir... it's happened again," she said quietly. "The third in a fortnight. This is no longer coincidence."

The Voice's head snapped up, his cold eyes seeming to pierce the formidable Angel of Death. "Where? Who?"

"Raziel. About eight minutes' flight from here."

"Send a summons for John and Sherlock and have Lestrade accompany you back. I shall bring Heaven onto an alert." Mycroft stood, the rustling of his snowy wings dotted with black the only indicator of his distress. "We need to stop this. Now."

She nodded once and went off to find the Warrior, but not before a message was sent to the Healer and the Watcher. They were needed almost more than anyone. (1)

oOoOo

Midnight wings outstretched, Sherlock soared through the air above his flat, practicing and perfecting his air fighting techniques when the Summons arrived. "John! On your feet!" (2)

The Healer lifted his head. "Are we needed again so soon?" he asked, his face troubled as he went aloft and fell into place easily beside Sherlock.

Following the light blue trail left by the Summons as it returned to the one who sent it, he glanced over at John, a small, sad smile crossing his features as his eyes raked over John's face. "Yes we are. Another murder it would appear."

The usually gentle face went cold and hard. "I don't understand," he said quietly. "How is this sort of thing happening? _Especially_ here," he said as they came to the spot and touched down. Two people were already there: Gregory, the Warrior, and the Angel of Death. He sidled away from the woman, even as she smiled brightly.

"Glad you could make it so quickly," she said.

"Quiet," Sherlock snapped, his greatcoat sweeping around his frame as he circled the fallen angel. "Raziel," he murmured, crouching to examine the body. "Come so far from your post... what drove you here? John, examine his wounds and tell me what you see."

John frowned as he examined the body. "A blade went up and under the ribs... and it looks like the heart was set on fire," he murmured. The he caught something else, something _wrong_. "No...." he whispered, his blue eyes wide, going to Molly for confirmation.

The Angel of Death nodded sadly. "Just like the other two. The soul is gone," she said.

The Watcher's head snapped around, eyes blazing with holy fire. "You know full well the only creature capable of that."

Molly nodded again, tilting her chin to meet his gaze. "I know. But tell me this, Sherlock; how did _He_ get in under _your_ Watch?"

Blue eyes shifted to green, the golden flecks in them blazing; any lesser Angel would have been reduced to a quivering mess if fixed with this gaze. "He's very clever. Look at the pattern as Raziel fell: startled, barely any fight. Something lured him out here and then snuck up on him... but he turned to face it of his own free will... oh. _Oh_ , but that's _brilliant_." He was pacing in earnest now, eyes scouring the scene for more clues, almost hovering six inches off the ground in excitement. "Burned the heart and stole the soul, made sure we couldn't interrogate the remains for the identity of the killer... knows how to cover his tracks, well of course _He_ can... thinning ranks? Hmmm, bit early. Power demonstration? Most likely. Get our attention-" Sherlock pulled up short, masking his stab of pure fear for John's safety with practiced ease. " _He_ is most certainly returning, and regardless of whether or not this was by _His_ hand, it was by _His_ orders... and _He_ can never return or enter here again... therefore... there is a traitor within the Gates of Heaven and no one is safe."

Molly went cold and Gregory gasped. "Can't be," the Warrior said, his hand tightening around the hilt of his weapon. "How is it possible to have a traitor _here_?"

"On your guard, Lestrade. I can assure you that it is not one of us here present, Mrs. Hudson, or my insufferable brother. However, it means that _He_ does fully plan to return."

Molly's wings stretched slightly, betraying her calm face. She remembered that day well... far too well: The War in Heaven, Angel killing Angel... and then the Fall, where those who had gone against the Creator had been cast out. She had never worked so hard or been so weary and heartsick as she had been that day; cleaning and collecting the bodies of the slain.

Sherlock performed one last examination of his own, gathering all the data he needed. "Molly, this body needs to be taken care of. I leave that with you. Lestrade, give the information I've told you to Mycroft. John, with me. We're going back home."

She sighed as she bent to her task. John followed Sherlock and Gregory went off to tell the Metatron what the Watcher had discovered.

"Do you really think that it's Him? The Adversary?" John asked, unconsciously rubbing his shoulder. He had been one of the many who had fought that day, earning a vicious wound at the hand of those who fought against the Host of Heaven.

"Don't irritate your scar, John. I know it makes you think of The Tiger, but some things are best left until later. And yes, once you've eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, is the truth-" The rest of his speech was cut short as another Summons appeared in front of them. "What _now_ , Mycroft?" he groaned.

"You are to appear before me at once. I need to hear what you said straight from you. While I admire the Warrior's work, you are better with explaining in a way I can fully understand and appreciate," the dry voice said, before zipping off back to its source.

Groaning and uttering a few choice oaths that earned him a sharp look from John, Sherlock changed direction, practically sulking in flight as they headed to the palace.

oOoOo

When they reached the great palace and the chamber of the Metatron, the voice of God, John went on one knee in deference. Sherlock, however, stood and rolled his eyes. John never failed to flinch at that; even if he was the Metatron's younger brother, it always unsettled him to see how downright dismissive Sherlock was of the other Angel.

"All right. You've dragged me here with your little Summons. Mycroft, I'm _busy_."

"Just like I told you in the Summons, Sherlock. I want your account and your opinion as the Watcher. I need for this to not happen again. Or, if it does, I need for the Host to be ready for another War," he said grimly.

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock began to pace. "Raziel died in exactly the same manner as the others: stab wound, heart burned, soul gone. Someone clearly wants to prevent any kind of interrogation, and the scene suggests that the victims knew the one who killed them. There is only one with the power to steal souls, and he's forbidden from here. Conclusion: he's finding a way back, there is a traitor in our midst, and yes. We should be preparing for war."

Mycroft let out a great sigh, pressing his fingers together in front of his mouth, his eyes closed. When he opened them, he looked both weary and determined. "I have let the Creator know. The Host will begin mustering in three weeks," he said quietly.

"That might not be soon enough, Mycroft-"

"It is the soonest we can manage, Sherlock. Unless you wish to defy divine decree," Mycroft snapped.

Even the Watcher knew better than that. He snapped to attention with the added authority and power in Mycroft's voice, staring his brother down for a full ten seconds before he turned and swept from the room. "Come along, John."

John steeled himself and followed. If there was to be another War... then he needed to start training once more.

oOoOo

"Stupid, poncy git, thinks he can order me about, give me commands. I can't even guarantee we'll _have_ three weeks. It could be as soon as tomorrow or as far away as ten years, I just can't... I can't..."

"Can't what, Sherlock? As a former soldier, you have to be prepared for war at any moment. I know you know that," chided John gently.

"I can't _tell_. I've always been able to see clearer than anyone else, been sharper and smarter than all of the idiots here. Yes, you're included, don't give me that look. You know I mean no offence."

The Healer just rolled his eyes and smiled a little.

They were silent for the last leg of the flight to their flat, Sherlock sweeping in and flopping down on the sofa, wings folded gracefully behind him. John folded his wings back as he went to putter around in the kitchen, moving aside some of Sherlock's 'experiments.' "Tea?" he called into the living room, not really expecting an answer. Sherlock always went into a deep sulk after he spoke with Mycroft. And now with this new war with Hell looming on the horizon... he was going to be in a blacker mood than usual.

The Watcher grumbled about it being John's solution to every problem, but he sat up and took the cup when John offered, leaning back against the sofa as his friend sat next to him.

"Talk to me. I know I'm not that ruddy skull of your, but you have made it clear that I'm an acceptable substitute," John said, quirking an eyebrow and pulling a wry smile.

"Relax, you're doing fine." Some of the tension drained from Sherlock as he gave John a lopsided grin. "Three angels in two weeks, the certainty of a traitor among our ranks, and _He's_ behind it all. There's no one else could steal the souls from our kind."

John took a deep breath and let it out. He never wanted to face Him again, but it was apparent that his wish was going to go unheard. "Do you have any idea _why_ _He's_ doing it?"

"If I did, I'd be stopping _Him_ right now, my old friend," Sherlock murmured, looking the Healer fully in the face now.

Sighing, John nodded. "I know. I just fail to see what _He_ could gain from all this. I fail to see why _He_ left in the first place, but that's just me," he said, scowling as he thought back.

" _He_ refused to bow to Humankind. _He_ either had to submit to them or be cast out. Hence the war. I've never seen such demonic power in one being before. We lost so many that day, unable to bring them back. How many souls does he have trapped with him? And how many more before there is an end to this... this final problem?"

John went quiet. Some of his best friends had fallen that day, cut down by Lucifer and his followers, the blue-blackness that passed overhead as _she_ did her work. "I don't know," he said softly. "Hopefully we can solve this before there IS another war."

"I'll do anything to keep you safe," Sherlock whispered, rising suddenly and rushing outside and flying off before he could say anything else stupid or impulsive. His thoughts soon turned to the Fallen and the problem at hand, shoving down his words and thoughts about John until later when he could look at them without the Healer around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- We've given the characters their titles based on what angel we decided they were most like in occupation. Example: Mycroft works for the British Government but isn't the Queen (yes, I know, debatable). Thus, he's the Metatron: the Voice of God.  
> (2)- A Summons: for the design, think the little wisps from Brave. They are an extension of the one who sent them and can carry messages.


	3. Frayed

On a throne of shadows, listening to the wails of the trapped and the damned, the King of Hell sat. He smirked as his ash-gray wings stretched and then folded back as he plotted his next move.

"My liege. Another delivery from your faithful above."

He stretched out his hands and took the shining thing from the messenger. It writhed and pulsed as he held it and he thought if he strained his hearing hard enough, he could make out the faint pleas and cries: "Let me go... _please_..."

He laughed, the sound grating and cold, as he wandered over to a small cage that held many similar lights. He opened the door and shoved it inside, locking it with a very final-sounding _click_.

"Is there anything else you require, my lord? The guard is preparing to swap, and the evening feast is almost ready."

He rolled his head in a deceptively lazy manner. "No. Out of my sight, filth," he drawled before dismissing the messenger. He was feeling generous today; usually, he slit them open from navel to clavicle when he was bored.

"Yes sir. Right away sir-oh! One more thing. There was another disturbance on the outskirts this morning. Thought you out to know. Four demons dead."

Jim scowled. This was the seventh instance of demons being killed in as many days. "The evening meal can wait. I'm going out," he said, rising from his throne and stalking towards the doors.

"Of course, my lord. I'll inform the staff immediately." The imp was gone before the King of Hell could add him to the corpses on the pikes outside the gate.

oOoOo

With a gathering of his will, he shifted and transported to the spot that the imp had told him of;  the ground was still wet with the blood of the slain and pieces of viscera and other limbs still littered the area. He tilted his head to survey the scene, taking note of the movement behind him. The culprit of these acts of violence was still here...

Breathing heavily, Sebastian Moran, the Tiger, sheathed his sword and snarled at the blood dripping from his arms. The few cuts and scratches were already healing themselves, but imp scratches _burned_ like bee stings. He'd taken the outskirts detail in order to distance himself from the Hosts of Hell and from the king in particular, so when the very individual himself materialized just a few meters away, it took a great deal of self control to just stand there and remember to blink.

The Devil smirked and opened his wings a bit. "I know you're there. Come out, come out wherever you are..." he said, his voice a mocking sing-song.

Seb was still cloaked, so at the moment, he was hidden from the King's view, and that was how he wanted to stay. _Just go away... just go_ away.

Jim heard the slight shift and was on the other Fallen in an instant, tearing through the cloak that kept him hidden. " _Found you_ ," he hissed, throwing the larger man to the ground.

Seb's eyes grew wide from the shock of coming both face to face with the King but also because those brown eyes that had flames burning behind them were completely focused on him for the first time in his existence, and he was quickly losing faith in his ability to keep himself together.

"Well, well, _well_... so _you're_ the one who's been killing my subjects," he said, regarding the other in front of him. "And you didn't think it would come to my attention?"

"They were trying to escape-"

He snorted. "I am called the Prince of Lies, and that one was so pathetic, it should be put out of its misery."

"Fine, they were annoying and I was trying to do my job and I got bored. Satisfied?"

"Of course not. If you wanted to have some real fun, you should be up in the mortal world tempting souls into my grasp, or tormenting those who are already here. This work is... _beneath_ you."

"It's been my job since the Fall. I _volunteered_."

"Clearly, you're wasted out here. I'm going to promote you... whatever your name is."

"No, I'd really rather stay out here."

"Did I give you a _choice_?"

"I always have a choice, _sir_."

He chuckled, then laughed. "Really? Oh that is just too _rich_. While you are here, you are under _my_ rule. And you obey _me_. So when I tell you to come, you follow. Understand, soldier?" he snarled, his previous mirth gone.

Sebastian glared up at the creature, steeling himself. "I hear you. I'm just not going to listen."

The king of Hell got close to the other former angel's face. "Too. Fucking. Bad. Now _come_. You're going to be my new bodyguard. You have far too much talent to be on simple _border patrol_."

Seb's already fraying willpower very nearly snapped in two. He carefully pushed himself away and sat up, trying to get the King out of his space. "I refuse. And good luck killing me. I heal very fast." His wings twitched where they were pressed to his back, the tattered and worn feathers protesting slightly. (1)

Jim got a look at the frayed feathers: mottled and striped. He grinned. "Who said anything about killing you? Now come along, Tiger. I do _so_ hate to repeat myself," he drawled.

 _He knows my title._ "Get used to it. I'm. Not. _Coming_."

A hand shot out lightning-fast and grabbed one of the strong but delicate bones that were the powerful wings, folded close to Seb's back. Jim squeezed hard. "Do I _really_ have to pull these out by the roots? It would be such a shame, you have such lovely plumage," Jim said, his voice falsely sweet and sad.

The Tiger gasped in shock and pain; _no one_ had dared do something as intimate as touch his wings before. He realized just how oversensitive they had become and how much Jim's grip hurt. "Th-they're tattered and dead," he mumbled, trying to pull back. (2)

"Then let's see about fixing that, hmm?" Jim purred, close to Sebastian's ear. "This is the last time I will be courteous. The next time, I will follow through," he said, tugging none-too-gently.

With a great roar, Sebastian surged up and drove the Morning Star to the ground, pinning him and growling. "You'll not touch them again," he snarled.

Jim surged and flipped them over, pinning the other creature to the ground with his forearm pressed hard into his windpipe. "I shall touch them if I so choose. Now... _follow_ ," he snarled, watching as Seb's face slowly turned purple with the lack of air.

Choking with the edges of his vision starting to go blurry, Seb collapsed, his eyes rolling back into his head and stopping his breathing; time to play possum. If the King of Hell wanted him this badly, he could drag him back.

Jim snarled. "If you're not up and walking in two seconds, I will drag you back by your wings... over the black and broken rocks. If I should happen to wrench them out, so be it. You can still be my bodyguard, even if you're grounded."

Sebastian felt something inside him break; _nothing_ was worth losing his flight, and his already neglected wings would not survive that particular trek. He rose, coughing, eyes downcast and deliberately not looking at Jim.

The King of Hell ran his fingers through his newest bodyguard's golden curls possessively, grinning. "Gooood, Tiger. Very good. Now come along. Daddy's had enough playing."

He swallowed tears and followed Jim back to the palace, the very place he'd been staunchly avoiding for millennia. Now had he truly found Hell.

oOoOo

Jim gathered his energy and transported them both back to the city of Dis, capitol of Hell. His palace was, of course, the largest building there. "Here's your room; it's right next to mine in case I should need you during the night," he said, opening the door with a wave of his hand, showing off the opulent interior.

Clenching his jaw to prevent it dropping, Seb looked around briefly, giving a nod. "Fine. But don't come near me."

"Oh? And why not?" Jim said, sidling purposefully closer, nearly brushing against him.

"Get the  _fuck_  away from me," the Tiger hissed, shoving Jim  _hard_ , his momentum throwing him against the wall.

" _Why_?" Jim said, peeling himself away from the wall, his wings spreading slightly, shaking the ash-gray feathers to straighten them.

"Because I'll fucking kill you. I'm The Tiger."

Jim laughed lightly. "I doubt it. I courted Death for a while, remember? Don't think she wants to see me any time soon."

"I'll guarantee a little visit from the Raven, don't think I can't. Keep your hands off me and keep your fucking distance, and  _maybe_  I won't run away."

"Won't guarantee it'll be me she'll be taking, though," Jim retorted, grinning sharply. "I might want you to  _try_. I even  _miss_  her sometimes. And if you try to run away... safe to say you'll wish you could  _run_  when I was done with you."

"Why do you want me here anyway? I'm a liability, tried to take out The Healer in the Fall and failed. I've been on border patrol this entire time, killing for fun and never  _once_  have I gotten in trouble for it Why now?"

"Because, my dear Tiger... we are trying something  _new_. There's a traitor behind the Gates of Heaven, and I want my rightful place back," he said, his wings spreading out to their full and impressive span.

"I'm  _not_  yours, my Lord."  _Though I wish I were_. Then Seb stopped breathing to see Jim's wings fully extended, ash grey with black flecks as if a volcano had erupted.  _Beautiful_.

Jim cocked his head. "Not mine? Not  _mine_? Oh my deluded and beautiful bodyguard; you were mine the minute you joined my side before I was so unjustly cast out," he said, trapping Seb with his eyes.

Too many things ran through Sebastian's head at once, not the least of which being that Jim had just called him beautiful, but he suddenly found himself unable to move, those mad eyes fixing him in place. It was too difficult to be this close to the man he wanted more than anything and be holding himself back, fighting his desires tooth and nail. He'd wanted the King since before the Fall, since he was first the Morning Star. He'd followed in the hope of getting close, but after the Fall, he distanced himself from Jim, knowing his desires were too dangerous. The man would never submit to another, would never let anyone else have power over him... and that was exactly what Sebastian wanted.

"Now go get settled in," Jim said, dismissing Seb with a wave of his hand. He paused, as if he had forgotten something. "You never told me your name. I can't just keep calling you 'bodyguard'... that's boring, and I am  _anything_  but boring."

"Yeah, you can. Get used to disappointment,  _sir_." Seb turned on his heel to stalk out of the room.

Lightning-fast hands shot out and dragged him back by the hair. "I. Asked. For. Your.  _Name_. If it makes you any less sure, I am now  _ordering_  you," the velvet voice hissed in the blonde's ear.

Swallowing hard against the stab of arousal that shot through him and the pain in his scalp, the blonde gasped out, "Sebastian-Moran... The-Tiger!"

"Good. Very good. Now, Tiger...  _Sebastian_. Go. Get settled in. I'll call for you should I need you," he purred.

He very nearly moaned. "Y-yes sir... very good, sir."

Jim slowly released the grip he had on Seb's hair, his fingers trailing through the golden curls. "And, for the record, since you already know who I am: Lucifer. Lord of Darkness, Prince of Lies, The Great Deceiver, all those wonderful little titles they've thought up for me. But... you can call me Jim."

"Yes... Jim." Released, Seb did everything he could not to focus on the sensation of Jim's fingers in his hair, all but bolting from the room and locking the door behind him. His trousers were impossibly tight, and he needed to take care of it. Right then.

Jim smirked as he heard the door slam shut and lock home. He could stay and listen through it, but he had a good idea of what was going on. After all, power attracts. He wandered off back to the throne room, whistling a jaunty tune that he'd heard while walking around in the mortal world. He still had so much planning to get done, after all.

oOoOo

Collapsing on his bed, Seb struggled to get his breathing back under control. Sweat dripped slowly into his eyes and he could still taste Jim's name on his tongue.

This was extremely bad... and there was no way he could get out of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- An Angel's wings (and a former Angel's wings as well) can wither and deteriorate if they aren't taken care of, or if their owner is neglecting something important in his or her life. Self-denial or extreme grief can also do this.  
> (2)- In their full glory, Sebastian's wings are a rich orange tinged with brown, white stripes streaking through. So, his title of 'The Tiger' is two-fold. One: he fights like the creatures, brutal, without mercy, often snarling and spitting, etc. Two: he has the wings of a Sun Tiger. They are extremely rare, but tigers with white stripes do exist.  
> It is also a pretty serious taboo to touch another angel's wings, unspoken, but there. It's much the same as touching someone else's daemon in the 'His Dark Materials' series by Phillip Pullman.


	4. Sparring

John sighed as he opened the cabinet that held his weapons; he rarely took them out, only to clean them and keep them in working order. He hefted the familiar weight of the long sword and short dagger in his hands, a small smile coming to his face as he easily gripped them. The smile faded, though, as he recalled what he caught Sherlock saying before he flew off in a hurry the other day;

_'I would do anything to keep you safe.'_

He was sure he had imagined it... hadn't he? He sighed as he rolled his neck and shoulders to loosen the muscles there, no use in training if he was going to just hurt himself doing it. With a deep breath, he began the first series of movements, going through the motions and stances a bit roughly at first, but attaining a fluid grace as his muscles remembered what to do.

Stumbling out of his room after collapsing on the bed and sleeping for twelve straight hours, Sherlock rubbed a hand over tired eyes and glanced out the window to the front lawn before the flat.

He froze.

John was practicing his old forms, movements and combinations unused for millennia now seeming to come back to him without a problem. The Healer's brown was furrowed in concentration, moving fluidly unless he made a mistake; then he would repeat the motion until it was perfect.

The Watcher managed to shake himself out of his trance long enough to quickly throw on clothes, shoes, and his coat before tearing downstairs, composing himself before leaving the building. "Might I join you?"

John started, lost in the battle-trance, aiming his sword at the disturbance. He moved away and lowered the weapon, visibly relaxing. "By all means. Just... don't sneak up on me like that," he warned.

"I was standing a safe distance away, John. You wouldn't have injured me," Sherlock replied easily. "I've gleaned a great deal from observation, but I'm sure it would be easier for you if you had someone to practice with."

The Healer smiled at his friend. "Yeah, that would be great! Just don't go crying to Mycroft when I beat you," he said, smirking.

"Me? Run to my big brother? Perish the thought." Sherlock took up one of the swords, testing its weight and grip in his hand before facing his friend.

"All right, let's see what you've got," John said, taking up a battle stance.

Cracking his neck, Sherlock closed his eyes for a single second to center himself before they snapped open and he attacked.

John defended himself easily but was readying for another flurry of blows. He knew that the first initial motions were just the Watcher _learning_ , and that he would begin in earnest as soon as he was more confident of his movements.

A tiny smirk tugged at the corner of Sherlock's mouth; he shifted his stance and ducked under John's defenses, tapping him lightly against the neck before dancing out of the way. "You shouldn't be going so easy on me, John."

"Oh, it's _on_ now," John said, laughing. He quickly grew serious, though, as he moved through a dizzying set of blows that had Sherlock on the defensive in earnest.

oOoOo

Molly stood at the edge of the lawn, half-hidden by a large sycamore tree; she had a message, but she didn't want to interrupt, transfixed by the sight before her. So for now, she was content with watching the Watcher and the Healer as they sparred.

Small beads of sweat were forming on Sherlock's brow as he concentrated and predicted, moved and defended. He was smiling broadly and gave a whoop of excitement when he nearly dislodged John's sword from his hand.

"Don't get too cocky!" John warned. He shifted the grip on his sword to a more secure handling and in a rapid flurry of movement, had Sherlock disarmed, off balance, and on the ground, the point of the dulled blade at the Watcher's throat. They were both breathing hard from the exertion, John grinning broadly at his over-confident friend's surprise. They were both startled, though, by the faint sound of applause coming from the far end of the lawn. Molly was there, her eyes shining and smiling widely.

Sherlock swallowed hard, letting his head sink back against the cool grass as his breathing came back down to normal. The thoughts about John got stronger every day and to see him standing there, grinning just for him, also sweaty and exhausted and framed by his wings... he was the most beautiful thing Sherlock had ever seen.

The clapping snapped him from his reverie as he gently brushed the tip of John's sword to the side and climbed to his feet. "You have a message for us?"

Molly swallowed hard and held her ground as the Watcher's demeanor shifted from his previously carefree mood to cold and analytical in a heartbeat. "Gregory wants to know if you've found out anything more since the initial investigation. And I have a question.. can I... is it all right if I train a bit with you?"

"To the first: no and he would know if I had. Second, yes, I believe it would be helpful for John as I'm aware some of his later and more complex training routines require three participants."

The Healer nodded curtly in agreement. "There's a sword over there if you think you can handle it; it's rather large," he said warningly.

She shot him a raised eyebrow. "I've handled weapons larger than that," she chided gently. Molly picked up the sword, handling it easily. She saluted John and Sherlock and took up a battle stance. "Whenever you're ready."

It was easy to lose himself in the fight, the foot work and weight and shifting bodies and fluttering wings all adding to the excitement. Every last detail was being stored in the Watcher's mind as he fought, intrigued as the dynamics shifted from every man for himself to various pairings angels against the remaining participant.

Molly breathed steadily as she focused her attention on the way she moved and the feeling of the weapon in her hands. She usually hated fighting and conflict, but with another War looming on the horizon, she couldn't afford to let herself be seen as weak. When the time came, she would be there on the front lines, with so many others. Her eyes snapped open and a fire burned behind them as she parried, blocked, lunged, wings held close to her body to prevent from being tripped on or grabbed in a fight, teeth bared as she pushed her sword against the Watcher's, feet dug into the ground to hold herself steady. John watched as the smaller angel pitted herself against Sherlock, a slight look of surprise on his face. He'd never seen her hold a weapon in the eons he'd known her, and watching her use a sword like an extension of her arm was a little odd, like watching the Metatron cuddle a kitten. He had to laugh at the mental image, even as he kept himself on edge for the upcoming drill that had the three of them against each other.

With a lightning fast twist and jump, Sherlock soared through the air and ended up behind the Angel of Death, tripping her and spinning to block and disarm John, leaving both his partners with grass stains on their clothes from hitting the ground so hard.

Laughter broke the air as Molly stood up and brushed herself off. John shook his hands, both of them trembling slightly from the shock of having his sword forced from them, then clapped slowly. "Well done!" he praised. "Not bad, either of you. Especially Sherlock! Beginner's luck," he teased.

The Angel of Death picked up the sword and returned it to the stand almost reverently, her cheeks pink with exertion and her eyes shining. "Would never have taken you for a beginner like that," she said to the Watcher.

He felt his cheeks flush slightly with pride and exertion. "And I do not believe I've ever seen you wield a weapon, Molly. Even in the Great War, you never fought. You observed and collected. Very impressive." He turned to John. "And it was not luck. I just had a very capable teacher."

"Come off it," John said, nudging Sherlock's shoulder with a faint blush of his own at the compliment.

"It's the truth, John!"

Molly laughed again. "You _are_ a good teacher, John. And you're a good student, Sherlock," she said, stretching her wings out a bit. She didn't like keeping them so close to her body; it made them feel cramped.

John chuckled. "Well, we'll see," he said as he returned the weapons to their place. "I agree with Sherlock, though. I don't recall you wielding a weapon before, and you were _very_ good with it." The Angel of Death flushed brilliantly. She wasn't used to being paid compliments; everyone tended to avoid her.

The Watcher stretched, cracking a few stiff joints before glancing at Molly once more. "Tell Lestrade I will inform him as soon as I know more. I understand the importance of the Garrison being able to properly muster and defend." Turning back to John, "We need milk."

Molly nodded and flew off silently. John huffed. "I get the milk every single time we're out, and now I want to take a shower and a nap. _You_ can get the milk."

"I worked just as hard as you did. Why should I have to do the shopping?"

"Because _you_ never do it! I want a break for once," John said, crossing his arms and looking defiant.

Sherlock rolled his eyes like a petulant child, but there was something in him that wanted John just to smile again. "Is there anything else we're out of?"

The Healer looked taken aback. "Oh! Um... yes. We're out of jam and biscuits. And sugar," he said, rapidly going through their kitchen in his head.

"Shall I pick up dinner as well?"

"Sherlock, that would be lovely," John said, beaming from ear to ear. "Thanks, mate. You're amazing."

Feeling that odd swelling in his chest, Sherlock managed to give John one of his smiles reserved only for his friend before taking off and flying towards the town. On the way, he memorized John's face and the intonation of the words he had spoken. _Amazing... no John, you're the one who's amazing_...


	5. Off Limits

Several hours later, Seb finally gathered up enough courage to open the door to his room and poke his head out. There was no sign of Jim or any other guards anywhere. Tentatively, he stepped out into the corridor, wings tucked behind him and several knives stashed in various pockets.

Jim was lazily lounging on his throne, half-asleep (although it was just an act), ears pricked to the movement that was coming from down the hall. He smirked and settled into a more comfortable position and waited for his bodyguard to, eventually, come to him.

He'd not seen the throne room before in all of his time in Hell, so Sebastian Moran was more than a little gobsmacked at the sight that greeted his eyes, mostly because it wasn't as he'd imagined. Yes, it was large and grand and very, very opulent but in an understated way. It was mostly black with the occasional red drape or fiery tapestry, nothing to truly suggest the magnitude of evil or torment that could be found in the Pit. And at the center on a silver throne... the King of Hell himself.

Jim could hear the soft pad of Seb's footsteps and the stutter in them as he took in the grandeur that was the throne room. He shifted slightly, stretching, keeping an eye half-cracked so he could watch the other man's reaction. He smirked inwardly; the King so loved to play games.

"Bloody... fucking... _Hell_..."

He had to really fight to hold back a laugh and a smart retort. He rolled his head on his neck so it was facing Seb and lazily opened his eyes. "H'lo, Tiger," he said, his voice slightly rough from his feigned sleep. He sat up and stretched again, luxuriously, feeling the hem of his shirt ride up a little and expose some pale flesh. His wings furled outwards, shaking slightly as the muscles strained, before relaxing and settling to rest against his back.

The Tiger had to mentally shake himself a few times to stop staring, something he was sure Jim could see and which absolutely mortified him. "Evening, sir."

"'Sir'? Oooh, so formal and so well-trained. Evening, Seb. I trust your room is to your liking?" he drawled.

 _Well. So much for trying to be polite_. "No, it's not."

"And why not? Tell me, and I'll see what I can do."

"It's too big for starters. And too clean. And too rich. I've slept in a space the size of a cot since the Fall. Yeah, it's a bit dusty and grimy, but so'm I. I don't care for your fancy rooms or your fancy airs. I'm simple, I'm a soldier, I'm a hunter. That's it. And I am _certainly_ not a pet nor someone you can just chain up and expect to be a 'good little pet'."

Jim tilted his head at the sudden tirade. Then he began to laugh. "Expect you to be a 'good little pet'? Good grief. You're my _bodyguard_ not my trained housecat. And if your room is too big, then _fine_ , I will find one more suitable," he said. Then he got a _wicked_ idea, and his mouth curled into a grin as he stood, slowly walking forward. "And I have just the place for it. You will share _my_ room. If you still want a cot, you'll have one."

The Fallen's blue eyes widened in pure shock. _Nononononononono_. "Fuck no."

"I don't recall giving you an option, Sebastian," he said, a bit of steel creeping into his voice.

"I'm not used to taking orders. Wait, scratch that, I _don't_ take orders."

"Too bad!" Jim sing-songed. "You'll learn here."

A muscle started twitching in his lip as he palmed one of his knives. "No, I don't think I will." _I have to get out right now, too much, too close, god I can smell him from here_ -

"Yes. You. Shall. And don't even think about drawing steel..." Jim said, taking a step closer to Seb with every word.

 _Too much too close too fast can't think._ "B-back up or I will."

"And just _what_ are you planning to do with it? Spill my blood on the throne room floor?" he murmured. "If you do, you most _certainly_ will regret it."

"If you even try to touch my wings again, I'll sink this in where your heart should be."

"Awwww, Tiger has his feelings hurt," Jim mocked. "Here, if that's what's got you in a twist, you can touch mine..."

 _Don't you do this to me_ \- his mind screamed, but Jim was already unfurling them and his scent was so much stronger and even headier when they were at their full extent, wrapping around the both of them (when the fuck had Jim gotten so close) only to flutter away again, ashen gray flecked with black. They looked so soft, so gorgeous... "N-no," he whispered, mouth paper dry and voice cracked.

"But I'm _letting_ you. Last chance," he said, his words brushing against Seb's skin as his deep brown eyes locked with the blue ones that belonged to his bodyguard. He brought his wings around them both, caging them in a circle of feathers and warmth.

The very tip of a single feather brushed against Seb's back, and he was gone, stroking and preening and cleaning the feathers as if they were his most prized possession, as if he'd never seen anything in his life more beautiful or exotic or powerful than them. His own tattered and drooping ones shivered in response, and he was so caught up in the feathers and plumage that he nearly missed the expression on Jim's face.

Jim's breathing hitched in his throat and his eyes rolled back in his head; this felt amazing... far too good to be decent. He shivered slightly as his feathers were stroked and preened and gently handled, his own hands itching to do the same to the tattered but still glorious plumage that graced Seb's wings.

All too soon, Seb realized just what he was doing, reality and logic breaking through the haze of unbridled want in his head and he pulled away, trying to stumble back and out of the throne room and run back to his familiar patrol; unthinkingly, Jim's hands snapped out and caught him, pulling him back towards the other man, arms wrapping around him to hold him close.

All of Sebastian's reason deserted him in that one moment when Jim pulled him back, wanting _him_ close, desiring _him_. There was no way this would work. He couldn't keep this up, not if he lost his head every time he was around the Devil. "S-sir-"

"Hm?" Jim murmured, not caring. He was pressed into his bodyguard, feeling warm and safe and just too good to really care. He felt as if he could start purring at any moment.

"P-please... l-let me go." _I'm going to snap, I'm going to kiss him, I'm going to have my way with him, make him scream for me-ohfuck_.

"Why? You're warm and comfortable," Jim said, sounding a bit petulant, holding him closer. "And you smell nice."

 _He thinks I smell nice. Me. **Me**_! Seb tilted Jim's head up so that he could stare down at the smaller being, one rough thumb tracing over the King's lips. Jim parted his lips slightly, his eyes heavy-lidded and burning with an infernal fire as he felt the work-roughened skin trace over his lips. He darted out his tongue, quickly, brushing against it as it passed.

The Tiger's worn and frayed control snapped and he was devouring Jim's mouth like he'd never taste it again, claiming it with lips and teeth and tongue, a low rumbling growl of possession in his chest. He'd been dreaming about this exact activity for millennia, wanking untold times with Jim's name on his lips... and now... now he couldn't get enough, taste enough, smell enough, touch enough.

 _Well this was not entirely unexpected, but most certainly welcome_ , Jim thought, winding his fingers through the golden curls before yanking them back, breaking the contact between their lips to trail his mouth down Seb's throat, giving the skin little sharp bites.

"Oh no you don't," Seb snarled, lifting the King bodily and bracing him against the nearest wall, one hand fisted in the Fallen's dark hair as he bit and sucked at the pale skin of his throat.

"Oh yes, I _do_ ," Jim purred as he felt Seb's mouth at his throat. His hands weren't idle, though, moving down the Tiger's torso to brush at the bulge in his trousers before cupping it firmly.

Sebastian bit hard, rocking into Jim's hand as he finished leaving a very dark love bite on the other creature's neck. Quick as a flash he had Jim's hands pinned to the wall, his own eyes dark with desire. "You've no idea what you've started."

"Don't I? I should like to think I did," he drawled, arching against the larger man and bucking slightly. Seb was, thankfully, close enough to him so he could brush kisses along his shoulder... and then sink his teeth hard into the skin and muscle there.

The pain was utter bliss when it came from the mouth currently on his skin. Making Sure Jim's legs were wrapped firmly around him, Seb hightailed it to the King's bedroom, ignoring most of the opulence and splendor in favor of the frankly frighteningly huge bed in the center of the room... well, not so much a bed as a depression in the floor made up as a bed. He stepped down onto it and moaned, the mattress every bit as extravagant as his own. Dropping the Devil to the sheets, Seb quickly followed, caging him perfectly with his body.

Jim smirked up at him. "Well well, it seems you have me where you want me," he drawled, spread out somewhat obscenely beneath the larger man above him.

Licking his lips, Seb unabashedly raked his gaze over the King. "Well... not sure if I have it quite right just yet."

"And how would you fix it? _Indulge_ me," he said.

Leaning down, the blonde lowered his lips to Jim's ear. "Immobilized, hard and dripping and aching for me while I pound you into oblivion, your throat raw from screaming _my_ name, my mouth on your skin, watching myself disappear into you over and over again, licking my way down your back-"

Jim froze. "Sorry, Tiger, back is off-limits," he said, his voice still light. "And while I like the direction your naughty mind is going, what makes you think that I'm going to let you do that to _me_?"

"Because-" he gathered Jim's wrists with one hand, "I'm-" he flipped him over, "always" ground his clothed erection against Jim's arse "in charge." Seb's free hand snaked under the hem of the King's shirt and began to tug.

Jim snarled and twisted his way out of Seb's grip. "What did I say?" he hissed. "Back is _off. Limits_."

The blonde pinned Jim again. "Hold still. What's so awful that I can't-"

A kick to the gut and a punch to the jaw had Seb out of the bed and on the cold obsidian floor. "Get out," Jim snarled, his eyes cold. "Get _out_."

Stunned and hurt, Sebastian stumbled from the room and into the hall. His eyes burned in embarrassment and shame, and just seconds later he'd retrieved his things and bolted from the palace, taking off on his broken wings as he made his way back to the outskirts of Hell, away from the one thing he wanted more than anything in the world.


	6. Three Words

Long after John had gone to bed that night, Sherlock stood in the doorway, watching his friend sleep. The Healer always looked so much younger when resting, almost boyish in appearance. He sometimes still had nightmares about the war, about his injury, but tonight he was in a peaceful sleep for which Sherlock was grateful.

Sherlock had returned triumphantly from his shopping excursion with what they needed and piping hot Chinese food to share (a secret indulgence as he actually went down to China to get it). They'd eaten and laughed, then argued through a game of Cluedo before John read his book and Sherlock experimented, the former heading off to bed just an hour later.

The Watcher always treasured these moments where he could observe John without being observed back, finally able to let his defenses down without fear of his friend reading him too well; John was getting better at it too. The angel's blonde hair fell in his face as he breathed slowly and evenly; he was sleeping without a shirt tonight, his wings rustling as he shifted, revealing the angry scar in his shoulder.

It was a badge from a terrible time that none of them would ever forget, the fields stained red with blood and scorched from the burned wings of the dead. John had been fighting the Tiger when he'd been stabbed, other medics in training rushing to his aid. Sherlock hadn't really met John until after, Mike Stamford bringing them together in more ways than one. Before the end of the first meeting, Sherlock had been intrigued, and after seeing to the flat and solving a mystery where John had not only defended but also saved his life, their friendship had grown inexorably from there.

John was such an enigma. He did get frustrated with Sherlock and sometimes he left to blow off steam, but it was never for long and he always came back. That was what the Watcher could not fathom. John always came _back_.

No one in his life had ever stuck around for this long before much less been his friend, but even the great Sherlock Holmes, The Watcher, had been slow to realize that his feelings of kinship and friendship were turning into something else entirely.

And the worst part was that he couldn't confess it.

Any time he tried, he chickened out, amazed at how difficult it was to spit out three simple words. Part of him knew that he truly feared rejection from the gorgeous angel sleeping in the once spare room. But there were some times, like during sparring today, that Sherlock could imagine their playfulness and teasing turning into something more, something where he closed the distance and placed a soft kiss to John's lips, kept John close by him always, savored every single one of his smiles, and spent the rest of eternity by his side.

Hovering slightly so as not to make any noise, Sherlock turned to go but not before he'd taken one last glance at the sleeping John Watson, the Healer, the man who had truly changed his life.

" _I love you._ "


	7. Scars

Three months had passed, and Seb was fairly confident he'd disappeared. He doubted, now that the Dark King knew about him, that he'd be able to completely, but he'd not been found and no word had been sent that anyone was looking for him. Shouldering his pack, he set out to the next little ramshackle village in the outermost circle of Hell.

Things were extremely tense in the palace, the King of Hell in the biggest fit of pure rage anyone had seen since the Fall. Items would end up broken with no explanation, tapestries torn, and no imp was safe; Jim tortured and killed more than he ever had before, relishing the screams of pain before putting his sniveling subjects out of their misery. He spent long hours sulking in his room, refusing food and the company of succubi until he finally swallowed his pride and set out to go fetch his bodyguard and bring him back.

Jim soared through the burnt-orange skies of Hell, his keen eyes combing the ground. No luck. Three months. Three _long_ moths, and still no luck. But today was different. He saw the flash of bright feathers, orange-gold-brown-white, even in their shriveled state, and his eyes lit up. He flew ahead, and landed, intending to wait for Seb as he left the little village. He touched down and set his back to a tree, legs splayed out in front of him, the picture of idle boredom.

The Tiger was walking with quick, purposeful strides when he got smacked in the face with a gust of air bearing a signature scent... his face flushed as memories of that night burned through his mind. Without even thinking, he turned around and started running, trying to get as far away as he could. He'd known it was too good to be true.

Jim saw his Tiger start running, and he growled. He took off and quickly passed him, landing on the dry ground in front of the other creature. He was about to open his mouth to speak when a commotion caught his attention. Three imps, slavering, feral and mad, had emerged from the shadows of the trees and leapt on him. He made quick work of them, snapping their necks with little mercy, but not before his shirt had been shredded beyond repair by their tricky little claws. He spat on the remains of them and lifted his brown eyes to Seb, folding his wings to cover his back, chest heaving from the exertion of the fight.

The shock of seeing Jim had immobilized Seb, but before he could move to defend him, the King had killed all of his assailants and his skintight black shirt had been turned into confetti. His visage still flushed, Seb stared at the ground, toeing the red dirt with one booted foot.

"I've come to take you back," Jim said, eyes still locked on the man in front of him.

"I left. Should be the answer to your question. Don't want to come back."

He chuckled darkly. "And I don't take 'no' for an answer. You're coming back with me."

Without even taking a running start, Seb leapt into the air, taking flight as fast as he could. Cursing roundly, Jim took off after him, his powerful wings giving him greater altitude. He easily caught up with Seb, beating his great wings to keep him aloft as he swerved around and came to a stop in the air in front of him.

"Go _away_. Why can't you take no for a fucking answer?!"

"Because that's who I am! And when I said 'get out', I meant of the _room_ , not the palace," he said, raising an eyebrow.

"I took it as a chance to get out of there since you clearly didn't want what I had to offer. I left rather than hurt you, you fucking idiot!"

"Didn't _want_  what you had to offer? You fucking imbecile! Of course I wanted it! But when I said 'not my back', I _meant_  it. You were the one who kept insisting," Lucifer said angrily.

"Well, forgive me Mr. High and Mighty if I just wanted to see the fully naked body of the creature I've only been _dreaming_ about for the past three millennia!" Seb didn't realize what he'd said until the words had escaped his mouth. Blanching, he turned to flee, desperate to get _away_ from the Fallen angel.

"Stop..." Jim called after him, his voice strangely soft. "Come on. Let's talk on the ground and I'll show you why I was so upset."

There was something in Jim's voice that made Seb obey, made him curious. He sank to the ground and dropped his pack to the dusty earth. Jim touched down to the earth, took a deep breath and turned, spreading his wings out so Seb could see. His back was a mess of angry red scar tissue, raw and horrid-looking. " _That_ is why," he spat, quiet anger and shame in his voice. "My expulsion from Paradise wasn't enough; I have _this_ to carry with me. A reminder of my failure and my eternal shame."

The Tiger's blue eyes widened in amazement. "They did this to you?" He hesitantly walked forward, almost reaching out to touch but not sure if he were allowed. The last thing he wanted to do was to send Jim into another mood. Wordlessly, he stripped off his own shirt, his own torso adorned with battle scars before closing the distance and tracing a single finger along the largest of the wounds. "So beautiful," he whispered.

Jim shivered slightly as he felt the warm brush of Seb's finger against the scar that was the largest, the one that ran the deepest. He turned his head, confused. "Beautiful? How is this beautiful?" he asked, genuinely at a loss.

"For such a clever person, you can be indescribably thick." Seb shook his head, chuckling softly. "Scars mean you've been somewhere, survived something, done deeds that were impossible. Yours are... they just _are_. They exist. And they are glorious." He placed a very tender kiss to the largest one, set down the center of Jim's back and in between his wings.

Jim swallowed hard as he felt something bloom in the vicinity of his sternum. He sighed and let himself soften a bit. "Will you come back?" he asked quietly. "Please?"

Biting his lip hard, Seb thought about it, struggling harder than ever to keep his mind rational. "Yes. But bear in mind that I won't stay if I'm not wanted, if you hurt me, if I hurt you. I'll be gone, just like I was before."

Jim let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He turned and wrapped his arms around the larger man. "All right. Now come home," he said softly, wondering at the feeling that grew stronger as he held Seb.

The blonde's feathers rustled, catching the distant glow of a fire. "Okay," he murmured, gently embracing Jim back.

Jim sighed and reluctantly left the embrace a few moments later. With a running start and a leap, he launched himself into the air, angling himself in the direction of the city. He half-turned to make sure that Seb was following him. The Tiger was just to his side and slightly behind, thinking clearly for once in Jim's presence as he followed the King back to the palace. His passion and ardor were still there, locked away inside, but their previous encounter had shaken him. Badly.

When they landed, Jim made his way towards his room, the doors flinging wide before him. He began searching for a shirt, too engrossed in what he was doing to hear Sebastian behind him. Summoning up his courage, Seb slammed the doors closed and strode up to Jim, seizing him from behind in a tight embrace. He lowered his lips to the creature's neck, dragging his tongue along the warm flesh there.

Jim froze as he felt arms around him and then the rough swipe of a hot tongue; he shivered and moaned as he felt just who it was, relaxing into Sebastian, an arm going up to hook around the other man's neck.

Focusing in completely, Seb laved his tongue over the skin, almost as if he were a real tiger giving his cub a bath... only he was hell bent on tasting Jim's skin, memorizing the exact flavor, trailing his tongue up to the Devil's ear and back down all along his shoulder.

Jim made a little moan in the back of his throat; this felt amazing. He maneuvered in Seb's arms and began to reciprocate, laving the skin of his collarbones. He wound his arms around him, stopping short of his bodyguard's wings. "May I?" he asked, his voice low.

The blonde's eyes went dark. "Yes, you may," he whispered, marveling that the Morning Star had just _asked_ him nicely.

Jim gently brushed his fingers against the feathers that were nowhere near their former glory, stroking along the powerful but light bones that formed the framework. He preened them and held them, now running his fingers through them, now barely touching them, paying each feather on the powerful wings careful attention.

This time, the touch felt fantastically different from the rough grab at their first meeting. Sebastian nearly collapsed as his entire body relaxed. It had no right to feel as good as it did. It shouldn't feel that good. There had always been an unspoken taboo about touching another angel's wings even before the great War, so deeply imprinted in sense memory that it felt shockingly intimate... but it also felt as though Jim suddenly had his hands inside of him, stroking his very essence and soul.

Jim continued to stroke Seb's wings, pressing kisses to his chest as he did so. Not only did it feel good to Seb (he could tell by the blissful look on the taller being's face), it made _him_ feel good too, to know that he was responsible for making Seb almost boneless with desire. A part deep inside of him rumbled in pleasure at this thought, of making Seb feel this way.

Stretching slightly and letting his tattered wings flutter, Seb leaned in to capture Jim's mouth, positively groaning in pleasure. He still wasn't sure if any of this would last or work, but he was determined to make the most of it while it did. The Tiger's hands strayed to Jim's torn and ruined back, tracing the unfamiliar pattern of scars with his fingertips, exploring and learning. Jim went stiff as he felt Seb's fingers on the scars on his back. After a long moment, though, he relaxed into his touch and let him do as he would. He kissed Seb back, taking and giving in equal amounts.

Carefully leading Jim back to the bed and desperate to avoid another repeat of the previous disaster, Seb reluctantly broke the kiss. "May I try something?"

Jim paused. "You may," he acquiesced.

"Lay down on your stomach."

He did so, half-eyeing the Tiger warily.

The blonde's own stomach churning and paying close attention to Jim's reactions, Seb sat astride the former angel, leaning down and, very carefully and gently, kissing and mouthing his way along the scars that criss-crossed Jim's otherwise pale and flawless skin.

Jim gasped, his hands fisting in the sheets of his bed as he felt Seb's mouth on him, his eyes fluttering shut. His wings twitched and slowly spread open so that they were completely flat and vulnerable. Everything centered around the touch of Seb's lips and tongue on the scars on his back. While his mouth was occupied, Seb slowly began combing his fingers through the plumage he could easily reach, stroking and rubbing as he made sure to kiss and taste every single rope of scarring on Jim's back before he sat up and then sat next to the King.

" _Ah_ -" Jim gasped as he felt Seb's hands go through his feathers to combine with the movement of his mouth on his skin. He groaned when he felt Seb move aside. "Why'd you stop?" he asked impulsively.

"I wanted to make sure I didn't go too far. And because it was kind of tender just then and I was very close to losing myself... letting the animal out... to see you _that_ vulnerable..." He trailed off, letting a single finger run along one of the bones in Jim's wing nearest his leg.

Jim moaned as he felt the touch, his eyes rolling back in his head. "Then let me return the favor. On your belly, Tiger," he purred, sitting up and folding his wings in.

Eyes widening, Seb forced down a sharp stab of panic and obeyed, unable to help the restlessness of his wings or the tightening of his muscles. The King straddled the larger creature's waist and began pressing kisses from the back of his neck all the way down his spine, moving so he could easily reach. He traced the great mottled wings, then his eyes glinted with an idea. He slowly bent and pressed his lips along the feathers that were closest to the skin of Seb's back, his breath ruffling the smaller downy ones.

Sebastian whimpered, eyes rolling back in his head as _all_ of the tension in his entire body left in a rush. The combination of Jim's fingers and mouth were very nearly too much for him to handle; the battle-scarred Tiger brought down by lips and fingertips... but not just any. They belonged to Jim, to Moriarty, to the Morning Star. It was in that moment that Sebastian knew he didn't just feel lust for the fallen angel, that for at least the last millennia if not longer, he'd been in love with him.

Jim's eyes sparked with another idea. Trailing his tongue down one feather, he took another into his mouth, sucking on it slightly before pulling on it gently with his teeth.

Sebastian's eyes flew open and he _growled_. It literally felt like Jim was inside his skin. Easing the feather very carefully from between Jim's teeth (they hurt worse than a burn to be pulled out), he pounced, pinning and trapping the Devil beneath him. "What was that?"

"Seeing what would happen," Jim said. "Not like I was going to yank your feathers out, no, no, _no_. By the way, you taste delicious," he purred, grinning widely.

What little blue was left in Seb's eyes vanished. "Strip and on your stomach. No arguments. No back talk. _Now_."

"Why?"

The Tiger fixed Jim with a stare that made most beings quake in absolute terror and shit themselves. "Because I'm going to make you scream."

The stare just made Jim chuckle. "Ooh, I'd like to see you _try,_ " he said as he started to unbutton his trousers.

Seb's eyes narrowed, shucking his own clothes and pulling a bottle of lube and a coil of rope from his pack.

Both of Jim's eyebrows went up. "Well, well, _well_. You're certainly... prepared," he drawled.

As soon as the trousers and pants were clear of Jim's body, Seb pounced once more, binding the Devil's wrists to the bars set in the wall of the pit. "I'm always prepared. For _anything_ ," he growled in Jim's ear.

 _Oh. He did not like that. Not at all_. Jim snarled and struggled against the bonds that held him, pulling them taut.

"Relax, sir. Please." Seb bit his lip, suddenly not as sure of himself.

Still fuming, Jim relaxed, glaring at the pillow so hard that it began to smolder a little, and for the first time in his life, Seb rethought what he was doing and reached forward, untying the knots and sitting back on the bed. Guilt simmered in his belly, memories he'd not thought on in years suddenly asserting themselves.

Jim relaxed much more once the ropes were removed before sitting up and regarding Seb, his brown eyes boring into him.

"I'm sorry."

"Apology accepted," Jim said. He could see the guilt that simmered under the surface, though. He crawled over to where Seb was still sitting on his heels and wrapped his arms and wings around him, pressing bare skin to bare skin as he held the other being. This was odd... nice, but odd. He'd never done much comforting before...

"I've ignored the struggling before, relished in the screaming. But, the last thing I wanted to do was do that to you. To think I might have... not thinking clearly..." Seb pulled away, curling up in a tight ball on one corner of the bed.

Jim felt that warm, fluttering feeling in the vicinity of his sternum again and made his way over to Seb again, wrapping himself around him, skin to skin once more. "And yet, you stopped yourself. So what does that say about you now, hm?" he murmured, pressing soft kisses along Seb's shoulders and the edges of his wings.

"I'm still a monster." The blonde's voice was laced with self-hatred and bitterness.

Jim growled and rolled Seb over so he could look into the other's bright blue eyes. " _You're_ a monster? You're telling that to the scarred and twisted _thing_ that is before you? Don't make me laugh. We are both monsters, Sebastian. Both of us."

"I've had millennia of torture, murder, and rape, Jim. I want nothing more right now than to tie you up and shag you until you scream for me. You don't want that. I don't want to force _you_ , to add you to _that_ list."

"And you think I've just been the magnanimous ruler here? I've easily done twice as worse and twice as much as you have. Believe me, when you didn't let me have my way.... I very nearly broke you like I did with so many others in my service. But I _didn't_. I don't know _why_ , Sebastian, but I _didn't_."

"And I would have taken it. I would have fought and cursed you and hated you, but I would have taken it just the same... I'm-I'm not a sub, Jim. This isn't gonna work."

Jim looked at Seb, long and hard. "We'll _make_ it work," he said, his tone brooking no argument.

"Enlighten me, then. How are we going to make this 'work'?" he shot back,.

"We'll figure it out as it goes, Tiger," Jim purred, gently mouthing Seb's neck. He gave a small whimper, his cock twitching back to life as Jim's ministrations shot straight through his libido.

Jim hummed in pleasure against Seb's skin, running his fingers down the muscles of his back and torso, pausing to brush over his nipples. The blonde's head lolled back, reaching out to mirror Jim's actions with his own rough hands, rolling and pinching the smaller creature's nipples between his fingers Unable to hold off any longer, he leaned in for a kiss.

The Devil gasped and arched into Seb's touch and leaned in as well, meeting the Tiger's mouth in a fiery kiss. His hands trailed lower, below his navel, brushing against his half-hard cock. The King of Hell purred in delighted pleasure as he felt it twitch under his touch, gently palming and stroking it.

Fighting the urge to try and swallow Jim's tongue, Seb dropped his hands to the Morning Star's arousal, toying with the head and flicking it with his thumb. The smaller creature shuddered and moaned into Seb's mouth, his hips bucking up slightly under the other's touch. He smirked as he moved his other hand along Seb's wings in time with his strokes around Seb's arousal.

Closing his eyes and following suit, Sebastian surrounded them with touches and gentle strokes, toying with Jim's feathers as he squeezed and tugged, knowing his calluses added extra stimulation. The Devil arched into the touch, gasping; he squeezed gently and moved his mouth down to nip at Seb's collarbones.

"Faster, Jim," Seb whispered, sucking a few feathers from Jim's wingtip into his mouth.

He shuddered and obeyed, now lightly biting at Seb's feathers as well, tasting their heady flavor on his tongue. Unable to stand the slow pace any longer, the Tiger slid down Jim's body and took him in his mouth, sucking and stroking.

Jim's eyes shot open. "S- _Seb_ ," he moaned, his fingers tangling in the blonde hair.

With that encouragement, he suckled harder, swallowing him down as far as he could go and swirling his tongue all around the fleshy organ.

"OhGreatUnholy _FUCK_!" Jim cursed, thrusting into Seb's willing mouth. "Oh yesss..."

Bobbing and twisting his hand at the base of Jim's cock, Seb took it all. He added the soft scrape of teeth every once in a while, able to feel Jim starting to tense.

"Oh _fuck_..." With a graze of Seb's teeth and a particularly hard suck, Jim was gone, spilling himself into his lover's mouth, moaning his pleasure as he came. Easily swallowing every drop, Seb licked Jim clean and collapsed on the bed.

Breathing hard and steadily regaining his faculties, Jim smirked. "Your turn, Tiger," he purred, kissing his way down the larger being's abdomen to place swift kisses around the base of his cock.

Groaning, Seb could feel the tendons in his neck start to arch and stretch. He continued to run his hands over Jim's wings. Jim lightly ran his nails down the blonde's feathers that he could reach as he slowly took him into his mouth all the way to the hilt, swallowing him down his throat and letting the muscles there contract around him, humming in pleasure.

"JIM!" He'd never done this with someone touching his wings before, and Seb thought he very well might explode.

The King's deep brown eyes, nearly black from lust, flicked up to bore deep into Seb's blue ones as he ran his tongue along the underside of his cock. He began setting up a slick rhythm, stopping every once in a while to swallow and contract around his length, his hands still stroking and tweaking Seb's feathers. The blonde could barely breathe or speak or beg, hardly able to give Jim any warning before he was coming with a cry, practically sobbing as he came down from the orgasm. He'd just gotten a blow job from Jim fucking Moriarty, the Devil himself.

Jim swallowed every last drop that Seb spilled and licked him clean, a pleased smile on his face. He smirked up at Seb. "Much better," he purred, his hands still busy with Seb's plumage... which, it seemed, had grown less tattered.

"Bloody... amazing..." the Tiger whimpered. "God... your fingers... my feathers... never done this before."

"Truth be told, nor have I," Jim admitted, crawling up so he could easily lay beside Seb, his hands running over the feathers in a now almost contemplative manner, admiring their colors and the mottled/striped pattern of them. "So beautiful," he murmured.

"Y'think so?"

"Mmm. Such gorgeous plumage, Tiger. The rest of you as well..."

"M'wings haven't been truly amazing since the Fall. They've been dying for millennia."

"Really? Doesn't look like that to me. Go check, if you don't believe me," Jim said, gesturing to the mirror that hung on the wall.

Raising an eyebrow, Seb clambered out of the bed and strode over to the mirror, unfurling his wings.

His jaw dropped.

The feathers he had left were looking sleek, shiny, almost new, and the places where large clumps had fallen out he could see them starting to grow back. "Holy fuck!"

Jim chuckled. "Well, I'd say 'holy wank', but yes. Said you were gorgeous, Tiger, and I mean it."

"No, you don't understand... they were _dying_."

Jim furrowed his brows. "Really? It never really looked that way to me..."

Seb turned and stared, his brain faintly registering what that would mean, what that did mean. Coming back over to the bed, he climbed down and under the covers, curling up completely exhausted. Jim instantly snuggled up against him, curling into his warmth and listening to Seb's heartbeat as he drifted off to sleep.

The last thing Seb remembered was cocooning them in his healing wings, allowing himself to feel a fraction of the love he had for the man in his arms.

Even if just for one night.


	8. Prophecy

A few days later, John got a Summons from Sherlock while he was working in the infirmary that made him shake his head as he rolled his eyes.

"Library. Come at once if convenient," his friend's rich baritone stated. It was near the end of his shift, and he could head out a few minutes early, so he sent the Summons back from whence it had come. Almost immediately, he received another one, once again from Sherlock.

"If inconvenient, come anyway."

John smiled as he sent the little ball of blue glowing light away, taking to the air and stretching his wings after a long day spent grounded.

Sherlock was almost hidden by a veritable mountain of books, stacks upon stacks around his chair and on the table. He'd found part of what he had been looking for hidden in a footnote on the very last page of the very old and extremely dusty Enochian tome.

_"To he who wishes truly to return_

_Three things done to a pardon earn._

_First for the key, blood and fire to spill_

_Magic number seven the souls to fill._

_The second element, chasing dark away,_

_Love of another, always to stay._

_Third piece the hardest, no darkness can linger_

_Love must be returned, eternal hope bringer._

_These things gathered, presented, and the price_

_The highest of all: a willing sacrifice."_

John cleared his throat. "Find anything?" he asked, making his presence known so as not to startle his friend.

"Yes... I believe I know what _He_ is planning, John." Leaning back in his chair and steepling his fingers under his chin, Sherlock nodded to the book.

John held his breath. "And?" he asked, waiting for the revelation of the Adversary's plans.

With a long exhale, Sherlock opened his eyes and looked over to John. "War is most certainly coming."

The Healer went cold, his face and eyes grim. He said nothing, merely nodding to show he'd heard; as much as he hated fighting, he would do his duty when the time came.

"Three are dead and four more must as well. I'm not sure how he plans to have someone fall in love with him and then fall for them in return. That might buy us some time if we're lucky." He ignored the last bit of the text in his explanation, already beginning to form a plan of his own, and it was written in High Enochian which only he and Mycroft were able to read; he didn't have to worry about John comprehending the ancient symbols.

John's eyes went wide. "Four?! Four more are going to die? Can we do anything, Sherlock, _anything_ to stop it?" he asked.

The Watcher's eyes went steely. "The only way to stop it is to find the traitor, only he or she is far too clever to get caught. Biding their time, possibly buying the Boss time as well for the rest of the prophecy. I initially said three weeks, but it's now going on four months since Raziel's death. _He_ must have a copy of this somewhere, perhaps incomplete? If he only has the first half, then of course he'd assume victory. Power attracts and all. But, if not... he's a monster incapable of love. He could never... oh, stupid, _stupid_. He was an Angel once and loved our _Father_ too much, it's why he would not bow to the mortals."

John cursed. "So we have to wait and see who among is next to be cut down," he said, beginning to pace.

"I don't like it either, John, but until we have some idea of who wields the knife, all we can do is hope we are close by when something happens," Sherlock shot back, rereading the last few lines of text again. _A willing sacrifice..._

"As much as I hate to say it, hope won't save them," John replied, sitting down in the free chair next to Sherlock.

Concern creased the Watcher's brow to see his friend to disheartened. Hesitantly, he reached out and gently rubbed John's back, just between his wings. The smaller being relaxed with a groan. "That feels nice," he said. "Have to keep them folded back all day so I don't knock anything off the tables, and that's the one spot I can _never_ reach."

"Turn a little more," Sherlock murmured, reaching his other hand to join the first, working the tense bunch of muscles with long, musician's fingers. John did as he was told, turning slightly to allow Sherlock more access to the tense area between the great wings.

The taller creature focused in the way he did with everything else, determined not to notice the exact color progression of dark brown to sandy of the Healer's wings, the distinct scent of antiseptic, tea, old books, and John that made up his friend, the way his breathing slowed and the tension drained from his body. So intent was he on ignoring all of these that he didn't realize he'd brushed a knuckle very lightly against the base of John's right wing.

The Healer gasped and stiffened; Sherlock had just touched his wing. _Surely_ by accident... even if he were oblivious to other societal norms, he wouldn't break the one thing that was possibly the greatest unwritten rule of social contact.

Startled from his trance, the Watcher swiftly realized what had happened. "I-I'm sorry," he stammered, stumbling to his feet and making for the exit of the great library, leaving all of the books behind.

John wasn't fast enough to catch up with his friend's long legs and he was still too relaxed to get up quite yet.... to be quite honest... he hadn't really minded.

oOoOo

Sherlock took off as soon as he made it outside, soaring through the air to try and clear his head. He'd broken the rule, shattered the moment, all because he'd just wanted to _touch_. He really needed to get his brain back under control, emotions and desires he'd never indulged in or acknowledged bubbling up for the first time in his life and overwhelming him. What made John so different from other angels? Why was it that this particular blonde, Heaven's Healer, held his attention so well? Why was it that Sherlock always felt safe and secure when around his best friend? Too many questions and not nearly enough answers. Soaring back to Baker Street, Sherlock locked himself in his room and retrieved the object he needed from under the floorboards.

It was one of John's old jumpers, worn out and ratty from overuse. Sherlock had 'thrown it out' several weeks ago, and even though he had smelled every inch of it multiple times, it still insisted on retaining John's elusive scent. Curling up on his bed, Sherlock clutched the jumper to his chest and buried his nose in it.

This was getting too painful. He'd either need to break off their friendship (painpainpainNO) or learn to live with how he felt. And time was running out.

oOoOo

John flew home as soon as he had put all the books away (cursing Sherlock under his breath for _never_ cleaning up his messes) and strode the flat. Sherlock was nowhere in sight. He sighed. "I know you're here," he called. "And I want you to know that I _know_ it was an accident. Don't worry about it." He went to the kitchen to fix some tea, smiling to himself as he thought about Sherlock scoffing at him, saying that it was his solution to everything. "Tea is on, should you want some."

Stowing the jumper and straightening his suit, Sherlock checked himself in the mirror. Blast, he _had_ been crying. Scrubbing his face down and reigning himself back in, he unlocked his door and swept through the flat, picking up his cup with barely a thanks before collapsing in his chair and taking a deep sip. The Healer sighed as he settled into the chair opposite of Sherlock, holding his mug of tea and watching the steam curl off of it. He was just settling in when a blue-white light flashed into the sitting room: a Summons, and an _urgent_ one at that. "Another murder. Barely two hours old. Come _now_."

"Lestrade," Sherlock muttered, draining the cup and grabbing his coat. "Lead us," he ordered the Summons. "Come along, John!"

"So much for having a nice cuppa," John grumbled, then followed Sherlock. His expression was set into a dark scowl. _A fourth murder_. If Sherlock were right (which he usually was), there were still three more in the works, three more angels would die.

oOoOo

The Summons led them far from their flat, a good twenty minute's flight at their fastest and set them down beside Molly, Lestrade, and...

"Mycroft," Sherlock ground out, glaring at his brother.

The elder Holmes stood impassive but grim; he looked up at Sherlock. "A fourth. Same as the others: soul gone," he said shortly. For him to be here meant that he was well and _truly_ worried.

Barely glancing at his brother and positively fuming, Sherlock examined the scene, surprised that he recognized the victim: Liwet, the angel for invention and individuality. Brow furrowing, Sherlock's head snapped around to focus on John's blue eyes, the concern for the situation clearly there. "Who were the other victims? I need names!"

Molly cleared her throat. "Marmaroth, Zaphkiel, and Raziel were the three preceding this one," she said. (1)

"Fate, knowledge, power, invention," Sherlock muttered, running the names of the angels through his head. "That is what each one stood for." His eyes widened in surprise. "Oh. _Oh_. He needs a specific set of powers, _another_ reason he needs the souls. The prophecy I found today was incomplete, a _dumbed down_ version from the real thing. We need to find the original prophecy and fast or Lucifer will rise again and nothing we can do will stop him. He'll depose God this time and plunge the universe into a war. He'll rip us apart-" The Watcher's breath caught in his throat. _I'll lose John._

Molly let out a sharp breath, Greg went white, and Mycroft looked all the more serious. John looked grim, clenching his hands into fists, as if around the hilt of a sword. This was unprecedented; for the King of Hell to actually find a way to get back into Heaven and have it _work_? This was serious, and it was going to happen if they didn't catch the murderer and soon. Sherlock's eyes swept over the scene one final time, looking for anything. "Interesting. They're stabbed from the front and yet they do not fall back. All of them have landed just like this. That should point us to the weapon and spells being used in this. John? Any thoughts?"

"Double-edged weapon, it looks like. With a simple fire spell attached to burn the heart out. I can't say how the soul is ripped away... that is knowledge I don't have. Not that I want to have it."

"Of course not," Sherlock replied, voice softening. "Close range as well, yet... John, examine the stains on the ground. Does anything seem off?"

"There's a red stain here... not blood. And not paint, either. I can't quite make it out..." John furrowed his brow, looking at the bright red streak that showed off to the side of the deep red puddle.

"It's... it's lipstick," Molly suddenly spoke up. "Too oily to be paint and too bright to be blood."

"Our traitor is female," the Watcher whispered. "And what about the quantity of blood, John. It doesn't seem as much as it ought."

"Well, that's simple to explain; with the heart burned out, the heat would have sealed the veins. But there's still too little to explain that. Some must have been consumed in the spell casting."

"A dead end, then." Sherlock closed his eyes, trying to block out everything, but he'd ended up standing next to John, so there was no hope of that. The taller angel's wings fluttered restlessly; they'd always had a way of betraying his true feelings. "Well, the killer is going for high profile, there are no signs of a struggle, and considering the attributes of our current fallen comrades, who else might be on the list then?" He looked to Mycroft.

Mycroft pursed his lips. "If this prophecy you're thinking of is the same one I know of... then Yerachmiel, Uzziel and Suriel are in peril," he said. (2)

"Earth, Strength of God, and God's Command. Wait, you _have_ the full prophecy?"

"Of course I do. I was the one who wrote it."

The Watcher's expression went dark. "And _you_ didn't realize it sooner? Needed _me_ to do your dirty work? And extra protection won't work, so you know. Whoever is doing this is powerful indeed, and she certainly won't rest. Be wary, _brother_ ," Sherlock snarled, turning on his heel.

The Voice of God sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his hands. "Gregory, put a double guard of your best around those three. Whatever my younger brother says, it doesn't hurt to try."

"Won't work, Mycroft," Sherlock called back over his shoulder. "And just keep in mind that it's _your_ fault Lucifer has a way back in." With that, he took off, heading home with John by his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- We actually looked up the real names of these angels and what they are in charge of  
> Marmaroth- angel with the power to thwart fate  
> Zaphkiel- name means 'knowledge of God'  
> Raziel- angel chief over the thrones, guarding the secrets of the universe   
> Liwet- This angel presides over vanguard ideas and inventions. He is especially protective of mortals who have original ideas and thoughts, and is also very encouraging of individuality and uniqueness.   
> (2)- And the rest of them  
> Yerachmiel- archangel who rules earth  
> Uzziel- Cherubim whose name means 'strength of God'  
> Suriel- angel of healing whose name means 'God's Command'


	9. Since I First Saw You

Jim smirked as he received the newest soul from his contact in Heaven. Four down... three to go. He very nearly bounced off his throne to go find Seb. "Tiiiiiiger," he said in a sing-song voice, padding through to his room, "I have need of you."

Groaning, Sebastian rolled over in bed, pulling the pillow tighter over his ears. "Go awaaaaaay."

Jim bypassed the pillow and nuzzled Seb's neck, pressing soft, wet kisses to the sleep-warmed skin. "But Sebbyyyy.... I have good news," he breathed.

Shivering and leaning involuntarily into Jim's touch, the blonde muttered, "The fuck is _so important_ you can't wait until later?"

"The fourth soul was delivered, my dear. Three more to go, and I will ascend and take back what is _rightfully mine_."

Seb pushed the pillow away, rolling onto his side and wrapping Jim up with his wings. They were looking even better today, a mere week after returning to the palace. "You on the throne of Heaven. I remember the light that always followed you before the fall, Jim. It was little wonder you were the Morning Star."

He purred happily. "Yesss... best and brightest, that's me," he said, nuzzling into Seb's chest, taking in the wild and musky scent that enveloped him from his great mottled wings.

"You're like a little cat, d'you know that?"

The King of Hell snorted. "A little _cat_? I think you have the feline aspect taken care of in this relationship. You are, after all, the Tiger. _My_ Tiger," he added possessively.

"But which one of us is curled up into a little ball practically kneading the other's chest?" Seb teased, smiling a bit as Jim added the 'my' in. Everything he felt for Jim grew stronger every day.

"Your fault for being warm and comfortable and smelling good," Jim grumbled. "And the fact that your gorgeous wings are the perfect blanket aren't helping."

"Again. You. Are. A. Cat," the blonde chuckled, wrapping his arms around the smaller creature. He nuzzled the top of Jim's head, planting a tiny kiss in his hair. _I love you, I love you so much_. "I-I think I'm ready, Jimmy."

Jim's head shot up, looking Seb directly in his bright blue eyes. "Are you sure? Are you _positive_?" he asked, his voice and his face serious.

"To submit to you? Yeah, I am," the larger Fallen whispered back, stomach churning as he stared down Jim's burning brown gaze.

The Devil let out a deep breath. With a gesture, the doors slammed shut and locked. "So we won't be disturbed." And with that, Jim bent his head to his Tiger and kissed him, fingers winding in his blonde curls.

Growling, Seb kissed back hard for a moment before fighting hard against his nature and gentling it, letting the King of Hell lead. It was far harder than he'd imagined, but he wanted Jim _so badly_. All they'd done for a week was wank and give each other head. Any time things escalated further than that, they wound up fighting and Seb wound up in the dungeons.

Jim purred and rolled the larger creature over onto his back, moving away from his mouth and kissing his way down his throat, giving him small stinging bites as he went. He rocked his hips against the other's, allowing him to feel his growing arousal; he wanted this being so bad that it was driving him crazy, and he, although he was a little frightened to admit it, was slowly coming to terms that he _loved_ Sebastian, truly and deeply.

Gasping, his mouth watering, the blonde ground up against Jim, his sleeping pants quickly bulging around his erection. "F-fucking tease... always teasing."

The smaller being merely hummed in response, working on removing Seb's sleep pants and then his own, baring them to the warm air of the bedchamber.

Seb reached out, his fingers tracing over Jim's length while his own twitched. "So hard already," he murmured.

Jim hissed and bucked into the light touch. "Same with you," he said, cupping Seb's cock with one hand while rummaging around for the lube with the other. He removed his hand, ignoring Seb's quite whine, and slicked up his fingers. Bending once more to kiss the larger being deeply, he slowly worked a single digit into the tightness of his bodyguard, curling and stroking gently.

Seb's eyes widened at the alien feeling of something inside him, whimpering and twisting away from it. It took a few minutes before it stopped feeling intrusive and started feeling... good. Better than good, actually. This was _Jim_ ; even just having the being's tongue down his throat was enough to nearly make him cum in his trousers, and the finger was just a prelude to the main event.

" _Relax_ ," Jim whispered into Seb's ear biting and tugging on his earlobe before he eased another finger in. He slowly worked his fingers in deeper until he found what he sought and brushed against it.

The blonde was struggling to swallow the sudden rush of saliva at Jim's sinful voice in his ear when his entire body shot through with pleasure, a sensation he could feel from every follicle of hair on his head through his extremities. "Th-th-the _Hell_?!"

Jim chuckled. "Bet you didn't even know you had that, did you, Tiger?" he purred. He continued working his fingers, withdrawing them slightly before thrusting them back in, making sure to hit Seb's prostate at least once every three or four strokes.

"N-n-n-no!" he gasped, squirming against the sheets, face screwed up in pain and pleasure. "Ohfuck, Jimmy... th-that... I c-can't... slow down, _please_."

Jim slowed and moved his other hand to grip and squeeze around the base of Seb's cock. He rutted against the other being's leg. "Are you ready?" he asked, panting. "Are you _sure_?"

The blonde took several deep breaths, calming and centering himself; he knew the first time would be the most difficult, but he was so desperate for it to work. "J-just... just go slow to start." He felt close to tears for no reason at all. "I _want_ you."

The other creature nodded and removed his fingers, replacing it with the tip of his arousal after slicking it up. Slowly, he began to press inside, clenching his teeth at just how _tight_ Seb was. "T-tell me if you need me to stop," he gritted out.

The older creature clenched his hands so tightly he started to draw blood, forcing himself to inhale deeply, and with one final great exhale, he relaxed his entire body, enabling Jim to press the rest of the way. He could hardly believe he was doing this, years upon years of fantasies building up to this one moment. He'd never felt this full before, this filled, this connected to another living soul. He stared up at Jim in awe, the three words he wanted to say more than anything on his lips, struggling to be set free.

Jim groaned as he was fully seated inside of Seb's heat. He stopped to let the other being adjust to being filled, taking Seb's hands and bringing them to his mouth, kissing away the faint beads of blood that dotted the barely-broken skin. Slowly, _slowly_ , he began to move.

The Fallen King of Hell looked completely otherworldly as he feasted on Seb's blood, rocking gently into him. Fire seemed to burn through the blonde's body, his wings twitching and straining, fluttering involuntarily. Jim moaned, his head falling back as he felt Seb around him. " _Fuck_ , you feel so good, my Tiger," he groaned. Then he looked at Seb, his eyes alight. He brought his hands to hover just above the great wings that were fluttering slightly. "May I?" he asked.

" _Yes_."

Jim moaned and stroked Seb's wings gently but firmly, from where they attached to his back and shoulders, to the farthest point he could reach outward. Brushing the feathers, running his fingers through them and tugging lightly, bending to drag his tongue along them and suckle softly, all the while never missing a beat with his hips. (1)

The blonde closed his eyes, unable to watch as a haze settled over his mind. Jim was absolutely everywhere on him, reaching into his very soul. He was phenomenal, the very, very best lover the Tiger had ever taken. He wasn't aware he was speaking, wasn't aware of anything but Jim. "It's finally happening... oh my... I can't...even better than I'd dreamed... I love you... you're in my soul, holding my heart... you've had my heart since the first time I saw you... you shine brighter than all the stars in the heavens... more intense than all the fires of Hell... I love you... Jim... my Jim... love of my life... followed you to battle in... hopes you'd notice me... held back for thousands... of years... never thought... you'd actually want me... I love you... I've always loved you..."

Jim came to a full stop and just _looked_ at Seb, his eyes wide with awe and confused. "You what?"

"Love you... never stopped... always have..." The blonde was too far gone in his trance of bliss to even realize the other had ceased his movements.

Jim swallowed hard and took his hands from Seb's wings to cup his face and kiss him deeply, soundly, with all the intensity and feeling he could muster as he began to rock into him again, faster and harder this time. As soon as he relinquished his grip on Seb's lips, he rested his forehead on the other being's. He took a deep breath, twining their hands together as he moved, and he said what he now knew to be true. "I... I love you too. Sebastian, I _love_ you."

Surfacing from his trance as his lover kissed him, it took Seb a moment to realize what he'd heard. "You... wait... I... how'd you... _Jim_..."

"I _love_ you, I love _you_ , _I love you_. I do. If I had to Fall all over again to be with you, I would. If I had to give up my wings to keep you with me, I would. In a heartbeat."

The blonde's eyes went wide with shock, the words almost too good to be true, but the fire that burned in Jim's brown eyes was of passion not hate. Squeezing Jim's hands tightly, the blonde rolled them over. "Rest then, my love," he purred, "and let _me_ do the work." With that, he began rocking on Jim's cock, using his lover's hands as leverage and balance at first, then releasing them. Seb threw his head back, moaning and gasping without restraint now and spread his wings to their full extent.

Jim arched up into Seb, eyes fluttering shut as his lover moved above him. He gripped Seb's hips, hard enough to leave bruises in the shape of his fingers, helping the other being move over top of him. Drawing his hands upwards, he stroked the feathers he could reach before he sat up and wrapped his arms around Seb, nuzzling into him as they moved together, breathing each other's air and sweating each other's sweat.

"Close," the Tiger breathed. "So close, Jim." Cocooning them with his wings, Seb rocked faster, his cock trapped between their bellies as they moved.

Sliding one hand down between them, Jim began stroking Seb's arousal in time with his thrusts, his other hand moving in the same rhythm down the wings that enveloped them both. "Then come for me, my love," he breathed in Seb's ear.

"JAMES!" Sebastian screamed, undone and falling over the edge as he came, seeing stars as he coated Jim's hand and their stomachs with his release, but he didn't stop moving. Even through the best orgasm of his life, Seb kept rocking and clenching on Jim, doing everything he knew how to bring his lover pleasure.

Snarling and growling, Jim went over the edge and filled Seb with his release as he felt his lover contract around him. " _Seb_... Oh Seb, I love you!" he murmured as he came down from his peak, shaking slightly.

The Tiger's entire body was trembling as he began to return to himself, sliding slowly off his lover and wincing as his sore muscles protested, but he was so well-fucked that he couldn't be arsed to care. He could still feel Jim inside him, feel his hot release filling him and leaking out slowly. "I love you too," he finally whispered.

Jim smiled softly, holding Seb close. Looking into the sated face of his lover, he moved his own wings slightly, a silent question. The larger creature ran his hands first up the sides of Jim's body, letting his callused digits trace the smooth skin before threading through Jim's feathers. He petted and stroked, worshiping them with his hands and face, nuzzling the ones he could reach and giving others a cheeky lick with his tongue. He could feel his own wings aching with sympathy as the full set of plumage extended itself from his back... _wait, a FULL SET_?!

Jim moaned and purred as Seb worshipped his wings with his hands and lips, then froze as he felt his lover stop suddenly. "Seb? Tiger-love, is everything all right?" he asked, concerned.

"Look at my wings, Jimmy. I don't believe what my brain is telling me."

"What of them? They're full and gorgeous, the way they've always been..."

"Full and gorgeous... no balding patch by the flight pinions? No tattered edges along the outside of the left one? They're full and glossy and clean and _perfect_?"

"Seb, they've _always_ been full and glossy and clean and perfect," Jim said, not quite sure what Seb was on about.

The blonde stood and went to the mirror, jaw agape as he stared at his reflection. "I dunno what you've been seeing, Jim, but ever since the Fall, my wings have been dying. Slowly but surely falling apart, tattering, feathers not growing back when they molted, the color dulled. I hide them for shame but now-" He spread his arms and his wings fully, turning to look back at his lover, "Look at me! LOOK AT _ME_!"

Jim laughed. "I'm looking. And I see the most beautiful creature, Above or Below."

"I'm whole, Jim! For the first time _ever_ in my long, droll, miserable existence, I'm a _whole_ being."

Jim stood and walked over to Seb, grinning from ear to ear. "And you're perfect," he said quietly.

The blonde blushed brilliantly. "I really don't think so, but I _do_ think I have you to thank for my wings. They didn't start to perk up until the day you dragged me here."

The King of Hell wrapped his arms around his bodyguard and rested his head against Seb's chest. "Hardly," he scoffed before pressing a delicate chain of kisses along his lover's collarbone.

Licking his lips, Sebastian pressed a kiss to the top of Jim's head. "Now then. Why don't we go for another round? Maybe I'll get a chance to try you out this time."

He chuckled. "My beautiful Tiger... perhaps you may," he said... happy for the first time since his Fall from grace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- The absolute most intimate thing you can do, touching another angel or former angel's wings during sex, the ultimate act of vulnerability and even love, proof of true trust


	10. Oath

"All right. You brought me here, dumped me in this chair, I have nothing to say to you, _brother_."

Mycroft sighed and raised an eyebrow. "You may not have anything to say to me, but I have something to say to you. If you stop acting like a spoiled _brat_ , I just may let you see it."

Sherlock perked up, fixing Mycroft with a stare. "The prophecy? In full?"

"Yes."

"Fine."

With a flick of his fingers, a book, old, thick and dusty, landed on the table. The Voice opened to a specific page, the words looking as fresh as if the ink had only just dried on the parchment. "Here. It can't be exposed to the air for too long, so take a quick look or else the page will start to burn. Divine prophecy tends to do that."

Nodding, Sherlock stood and towered over the book. "Ready."

Mycroft took a breath and showed Sherlock the final part of the prophecy.

_"To he who wishes truly to return_

_Three things done to a pardon earn._

_First for the key, blood and fire to spill_

_Magic number seven the souls to fill._

_The second element, chasing dark away,_

_Love of another, always to stay._

_Third piece the hardest, no darkness can linger_

_Love must be returned, eternal hope bringer._

_These things gathered, presented, and the price_

_The highest of all: a willing sacrifice._

_Seven are named, for seven are doomed_

_Souls to be stolen from a blood-burn wound._

_Marmaroth, Zaphkiel, Raziel, Liwet_

_Four for the wind up, but not done yet._

_Yerachmiel, Uzziel, and Suriel last_

_With the hope to shatter the gates with a blast._

_As for a sacrifice, only one is greater than all:_

_In order to save, the Watcher must Fall._

_Give up his grace, his wings, his life,_

_And so, for all eternity, end this strife."_

Mycroft watched Sherlock's already pale face go three shades paler. He sighed, looking his age as he shut the book. "You wanted to know, now you do. You have to Fall to save him," he said quietly.

The Watcher's head snapped up, eyes wide and almost frightened. "Save who? I-I don't-"

"Sherlock... I _know_."

The Metatron's younger brother slumped down into his chair, looking more of his true age than he ever had before. "How long?"

Mycroft had to chuckle. "Since you started sharing your flat with him."

Overcome with the weight of his fate, Sherlock began to cry, treacherous tears leaking from his eyes that hadn't cried real tears since he was just a child. The Metatron swallowed hard and went around the table, gently helping his brother out of his seat and wrapping his arms around him. He hadn't given Sherlock a hug since... since they were both children. Actually, he could remember the last time he had given his brother a hug: when Sherlock had skinned his knee after learning how to fly. It really _had_ been too long. He patted Sherlock's back and held him close, his icy demeanor melting to comfort his baby brother's breaking heart.

"I c-c-can't d-do this anymore, M-Mycey. Every time I'm a-a-round him... I f-feel like I'm going to... going to..."

"Shhhhh..... I've got you," Mycroft murmured. "I've got you."

" _I love him_ , Mycroft. Stronger every day, more every time I see him. Stole one of his jumpers last month just to have him close. I watch him while he sleeps. I dream about him, about kissing him, about _more_ than kissing him, about telling him _everything_."

The Voice swallowed hard. "And you can't tell him. If you tell him before you Fall, Sherlock... it'll kill him. I've seen what a broken heart does to us; we _fade_."

"What'll happen to me? No one's come back from this, no one can. I'll... I'll be dying and he'll never know how much I love him."

Mycroft's shoulders sagged. "I don't know, Sherlock. I really don't know," he admitted, his voice soft and scared.

Taking deep breaths to try and gather his wits, Sherlock pulled away slightly. "And this'll protect him? Save Heaven? Lucifer will _never_ be able to harm any of you again?"

"It will."

Still crying, Sherlock drew himself up to his full height, eyes shining even as his lip trembled. Deep inside, he still was a willful child trying to understand the world. "Then I shall. I freely give myself to the protection of Heaven. I shall be the willing sacrifice to protect those I... those I love. So it shall be, for ever... and ever."

Mycroft closed his eyes and made the response that sealed the oath, the word paining him. "Amen."

The floor of Mycroft's office began to tremble, acknowledgment of the oath so sworn, and an oath like this could not be broken. In a few short moments, Sherlock sealed his fate.

Mycroft watched his brother walk away, head held high. As soon as the doors to his office shut, the Metatron sat heavily behind his desk, resting his head in his hands.

And for the first time in three millennia, he began to cry.


	11. One More

Sebastian was in the zone.

Every day since his wings had been fully restored, The Tiger spent long hours training with swords, daggers, bows, everything he could get his hands on. His shirt currently lay in a sweat soaked ball in the corner where he'd thrown it, and at the moment, he was hacking away at a set of dummy replicas of the Fifth Holy Garrison. Jim watched his lover from the shadows, admiring the fine figure Seb cut. When the other being had finished his bout, Jim clapped from where he was standing, emerging from the darkness.

Breathing heavily, the blonde cast his weapon aside, mopping his brow. "Y'shouldn't sneak up on me, Boss. Might mistake you for a target."

Jim snorted. "Please, Tiger. I can defend myself quite easily."

"Wanna bet?"

The King of Hell smiled. "You're on." He picked up a blunted practice sword from the training rack and struck a defensive stance, waiting for Seb's move.

Selecting a lithe sword from the rack, Sebastian turned and faced his lover with a smirk. " _Go_."

Jim waited... and waited... and waited. Then, when he finally saw Seb getting impatient, he made a slow, almost lazy move. In that move, though, he disarmed Seb and had the sword point at his throat. "See?" he said, smirking. "I can defend myself."

The Tiger's blue eyes were wide with shock as he swallowed hard; he could feel his heartbeat in his ears. "All right, you win," he conceded.

Very pleased with himself, he chuckled and pulled Seb down for a kiss, being sure to cast his sword aside. Growling, the blonde pushed his limits, taking as much control as he could. Wherever Jim was concerned, he had no self-control, no restraint. After so many years of denial and staying away, he was going to fucking treasure every single second he got to spend with the Fallen Angel.

Jim threaded his fingers through Seb's sweat-damp hair and focused entirely on kissing him. He growled in frustration, though, when he felt the tug of a Summons on his mind. He ignored it, but the tugging became painful. With a snarl and a curse, he broke the kiss and dragged Seb with him to the throne room.

"This had _better_ be fucking good," he spat, making the imp cower; the little red creature held up a quivering hand with a simple, leather pouch clutched in his fist.

Jim's eyes lit up as he saw the bag. He snatched it from the imp's fingers and peered inside. There was the fifth soul, bright and gleaming. He grinned and shoved it into the cage with the rest, picking up the imp and hugging it. "Aren't you a good little peasant," he cooed. "Now be off before I feed you to the hellhounds."

"Y-yes sir," it squeaked, bolting from the room as soon as the King of Hell had released it.

Jim grabbed Seb and began dancing him around the throne room with him. "Two more, Seb, my love!" he crowed. "Two more, and we can go _home_."

The Tiger was completely taken aback, positively stunned to see the Morning Star like _this_. Releasing Seb, he began to count off on his fingers. "Right, so we have Marmaroth, Zaphkiel, Raziel and Liwet... this is Yerachmiel. Now all we have to do is wait for..." there was another interruption: a second imp with another leather bag. Jim's eyes went wide and his eyebrows went up. He took the bag and, sure enough, there was another bright soul inside. He absently put it in the cage with the others. "Six. Uzziel. We have one left, Seb. One final soul, Tiger."

"Only one," the blonde murmured, tilting his head as he regarded the balls of light in the cage. "So... so that's what my soul would look like?"

"I don't know, my love. These are the souls of those who stayed Above. I guess ours would look quite different from theirs," he mused.

"But they did look like this... so beautiful," he said, watching how they seemed to dance around the cage. "Why d'you need them, anyhow?"

"I need them to open the Gates, Seb," Jim said. "Open the Gates so I can go back and claim what is _mine_."

"And you're sure this plan will work? That I'll be able to protect you?"

"If I wasn't sure, I wouldn't be doing this," he said, rubbing his nose against Seb's. "Once the final soul is in our possession, we can return, overthrow the Creator, take back Paradise and turn the earth into a heap of flaming rubble. Then... _then_ He will see that only we are worthy of His love," Jim said, his eyes going slightly lost.

Sebastian wrapped his arms around his lover, holding him tight. "I miss him too, Jimmy."

Lucifer shuddered slightly in Seb's embrace. "I want to go home," he said, his voice sounding soft and broken, saying what he wanted, what he had always wanted since the day he'd Fallen. "I want to go _home_."

"Shhhh," the blonde whispered, sitting on a nearby cushion and pulling Jim down into his lap. "I do too. I want to smell the grass and feel the sun... but... I don't wanna be there alone. I only want to if you're there with me."

Sniffling slightly, Jim nodded. "Paradise won't be the same if you're not there," he said quietly.

"I'm here, love. Tiger's gotcha." Seb's wings fluttered, wrapping around them both. "You can touch if you'd like."

Jim ran his hands through the restored feathers gently, almost like he was petting a cat. He calmed significantly, pillowing his head on Seb's chest. Eyes rolling back into his head, the Tiger held his lover close. "Feels so amazing when y'do that," he mumbled.

Jim hummed a response and nodded, shifting and rustling his own wings slightly. Chuckling, Seb obliged and brushed a knuckle along one of the bones of Jim's wings, pressing kisses to the top of his dark hair.

The King of Hell gasped and then relaxed, going limp in Seb's arms as he purred in pleasure. "Feels good when y'do that too," he drawled.

Adding his tongue to the topmost bone and shielding them from view of anyone who happened to walk in with his own wings, Seb lavished his partner, pouring all of his energy in getting him to relax and to stop missing home so much, to maybe start thinking of home as wherever he was.

Jim arched as he felt the rough swipe of Seb's tongue against the long bone of his left wing. "Oh Seb," he groaned. "That feels _amazing_."

"Can do more than that," he growled, licking from where it connected to Jim's shoulder to as far as he could reach and then mouthing his way back, sucking gently.

The King's eyes nearly rolled back into his head as he pulled away slightly. "As much as I'd like to continue, things have advanced more quickly than I thought," he said. "I need to muster the Legions. C'mon, Seb... you're needed too."

"Awwwwwwwwwwwwww, do I _have_ to?"

"Yes, you _have_ to. My second-in-command not overseeing the troops with me? Bad form."

He started slightly. " _Second-in-command_?!" he asked in awe.

"Of course. Like I'd let you be anything less," he said, grinning cheekily.

"Well I'm already second to you in bed, so I guess it won't be much different. You'll still be barking out orders."

Jim chuckled. "Of course."

"One more kiss, then, and I shall follow wherever you lead. To whatever end." (1)

Jim grabbed him and kissed Seb soundly. "To whatever end," he murmured back, resting his forehead on Seb's.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- Borrowed from Lord of the Rings


	12. Seven

"Obvious. So stupidly obvious. _Why_ didn't I see it before?"

John looked up from his breakfast. "Hm?"

"It's completely obvious. How they died! Who killed them! I'm getting slow, John. Mind too cluttered to work properly."

John snorted. "Mind too cluttered? That'll be the day." Then he really focused on what Sherlock had said. "You know who it is? The murderer? Who?!"

A real smile crossed Sherlock's face for the first time in weeks. "The Angel of Memories, of course."

The Healer looked taken aback. " _Irene_ is the traitor? But... _why_?"

"Money? Power? A faithful left behind? She's trusted, known by all, has connections, and, of course, she made a dangerous mistake. She used the same technique to get at both of the most recent victims! Wiped and replaced the memories of their guard, guard specially trained by Greg Lestrade to fight that type of an attack. All of the have ended up in your clinic in intensive care, have they not?"

Realization dawned on John. "Oh Hell... you're right." His head whipped up. "That means Suriel is in grave danger. Sherlock, we need to go _now_."

Snatching his coat, Sherlock sent a Summons to Lestrade, Mycroft, and to Molly as well. _We're still too late_ , he thought as he and John took off into the sky.

oOoOo

The first thing John noted when they reached Suriel's quarters was the smell of blood and then the coldness of the room. He walked inside to see Molly there, standing in front of Irene, the Angel of Death's face serious, her wings back and out slightly. She flicked her eyes to John. "She's the one," Molly said, "the one behind all the deaths." Irene smirked, Suriel's soul shining in her fist.

"Hand that over, Irene," Sherlock said, taking a slow step forward and holding out his hand.

"Why should I?" she retorted, raising an eyebrow.

"Because you're finished. We've caught you, and you are going to let Miss Hooper here do her job."

"Ooh, and you expect me to give myself up like a _good_ little girl," she said, her voice falsely sweet. "Too late. I have bigger and better plans." With a muttered word and a gesture, the light in her hand flickered and vanished. She grinned. "And now He has all seven. This _will_ be interesting," she said.

Sherlock blanched, blood running cold. He crossed the room in three easy strides, backing Irene against the wall. "Why then? There must be some reason you remained faithful to him and escaped the purge, some reason you're helping him."

Her breath caught, then she composed herself. "Silly _boy_. For being the Watcher, you are still so blind. He offered me what I'd never have here. _Power_. As one of those stupid humans once so aptly put it... 'Tis better to reign in Hell than to serve in Heaven.' And now... I must be off. Farewell, Sherlock... John. Little Miss Molly," she said. With a smile and a backwards step, she Fell, the blackness opening behind her and swallowing her up, the light of her Grace burning as it was torn away. John shuddered and didn't look. Molly looked grim... and then she saw Sherlock's face. And all at once, she understood.

The Watcher couldn't look away, eyes wide in shock and horror. He'd never seen anyone Fall before and never this close... _that_ was what awaited him. He had sworn to do what Irene had just done, only... he wouldn't go to Hell. It finally dawned on him that there was a way... he didn't have to die, not really, just the angelic part, the part that made him Holy.

He was casting himself from Heaven to become human.

Greg arrived moments later with five of his best behind him. "What happened?" he demanded, looking at the three Angels in the room.

Sherlock slowly turned, masking his dead eyes with cold and calculating distance. "It was Irene. We were too late to rescue Suriel. He has all seven. She cast herself to perdition. Prepare for war."

Greg blanched, then cursed roundly. "All right. I'm sending a Summons to Mycroft, and I'll go muster the Host. Good luck," he said. With a curt nod, he left. Molly followed, but hung back, leaving the room but not the hallway.

John let out a deep breath. "So that's it, then. We're going to War," he said, almost like he couldn't believe it.

Sherlock nodded, not trusting himself to speak. The forces of Hell would most likely be outside the gates by morning. _Not enough time_.

The Healer swallowed hard; he was scared. Even for a seasoned veteran like himself, he was terrified. He didn't want to fight, not when he finally had something to live for: a best friend, more like a brother. He didn't want to go knowing that he could possibly not return.

"John... I-"

The blonde glanced up. Sherlock looked... well, he looked different. He'd never seen his friend like this before. "Sherlock...?"

So many things tried to fight their way from the Watcher's mouth at the same time, all of them confessions and declarations... all except one. "Be strong, no matter what happens."

John nodded and crossed to his friend, wrapping him in an embrace. "And you as well, Sherlock. I expect you to be coming back to the flat when this is all over, you hear me?" he said, half-stern, half-joking.

Allowing himself this, Sherlock hugged the Healer back, giving himself one moment to remember. "Of course. Dunno where I'd live otherwise. I'd never be able to live with Mycroft." He tried to joke about it, but all he could think about was protecting the man in his arms.

John chuckled. "All right." He grew serious again. "I have to head back... need to take out my armor and sword. I'll see you later, Sherlock," he said. Giving the Watcher one last squeeze, he released him and went on his way.

"Goodbye, John," he whispered once the being had left, only then giving himself permission to break down in silent tears.

oOoOo

Molly was still outside, listening. Her heart ached, feeling as if it had been torn in half. She had loved Sherlock for the longest time... and now she knew it would only ever be one-sided. Gliding into the room silently, she walked up to where he was sobbing and placed a hesitant but gentle hand on his shoulder.

He started, wiping his eyes quickly. "Molly... I thought you'd gone."

"You look sad... when you think he can't see you," she said softly, knowing that she wouldn't have to elaborate on who she meant by 'he'. "Are you okay? And don't just say you are. Because I know what it means... looking sad when you think people can't see you."

"I have to Fall, Molly."

She took in a quick breath and shut her eyes as if she had been struck. "What do you need?"

Sherlock looked at her, really looked, and everything clicked. " _You_."


	13. Hungry

Jim was pacing, unable to contain his glee... or his anxiety. The board was set, the pieces were moving. Everything was falling into place, and he even had a new ally: Irene had Fallen and joined his ranks. She had taken up the position as the Sin of Lust and was adapting quite nicely to her new post. Munching on a kebab, Seb wandered into the bedroom, shutting the doors behind him. "You all right there, Jimmy?"

"We come to it at last, Seb. All is ready; tomorrow we go up to the Gates," he said, continuing to pace. "Tomorrow we get to go _home_."

"Hungry? I can't seem to get enough to eat."

Jim ceased his movements and smirked at his lover. "Actually, yes I am. _Famished_ , in fact."

"Can I get you something? There were having a giant fucking barbeque back in the kitchens."

The King of Hell laughed. "Ooooh, Seb. My beloved. I see just the thing to ease my hunger," he said, quirking an eyebrow.

Glancing at the food in his hand, the blonde offered it to Jim. "Here. I'm really quite happy to share."

Jim blinked and clapped a hand to his forehead. "I'm talking about _you_ , doofus."

"Oh. You sure you don't want any meat?"

He grinned, showing off the points of his teeth. "Just what you have," he said, looking pointedly at Seb's crotch.

The Tiger's mouth went dry. Sucking the skewer clean, he dropped it in the bin and sauntered forward. "By all means," he growled, swallowing what he had left in his mouth slowly. " _Feast_."

Jim stalked towards Seb and fell to his knees before him, tugging down his trousers and pants in one easy motion. Without any preparation, he swallowed his lover to the hilt and began to suckle, hard. Gasping, the blonde seized Jim by the hair for support, toes curling against the cold floor as he grew hard in record time.

Lucifer swallowed twice, then withdrew from Seb's length slowly, smirking up at him. He stood and walked towards the great bed, shedding his clothes as he went. Stepping out of the fabric pooled at his feet, Sebastian followed, hard, aching, and leaking from Jim's work with his talented mouth.

The King flopped on his back on the bed, looking up at Seb. "Are you just going to look at me? I mean, I know I make a pretty picture, sprawled out on the bed, naked and hard for you... but just laying here is _boring_ ," he said, teasing slightly.

The blonde pounced like the cat he was named for, caging Jim with his limbs and growling softly. "You're fucking gorgeous, sir."

Jim chuckled. "Care to show me just _how_ gorgeous you think I am?"

"Wait... you mean..."

Slowly, he nodded. "Yes, I _do_ mean that."

Seb wasted no time in claiming Jim's mouth, tasting himself on the smaller creature's tongue and plundering the warm cavern with his own. Eager fingers fumbled for the lube as he broke the kiss. "Hands and knees now, love."

Jim rolled over and did as he was told, skin prickling into goose bumps in anticipation and slight nervousness.

"Relax, my gorgeous, hot, _sinful_ love," Seb purred, kissing and licking his way down the scars on Jim's back, popping the cap on the lube. He allowed himself a secret smirk when his lips reached the top of Jim's arse. Setting the bottle down, he spread Jim's cheeks instead, letting his tongue drag down the sensitive skin, skipping over the Fallen's hole a few times before pressing against it.

Jim gasped and clutched the sheets as he felt Seb's tongue inside him. " _FUCK_ , Sebby!" he moaned, arching his back.

Encouraged, the blonde pressed deeper, flicking and curling the muscle and pressing his lips directly to Jim's skin. Slowly, he added one finger, easing it in very carefully alongside his tongue. Jim squirmed, feeling the pleasurepain of having something inside him. Growling, Seb gave him one final lick before removing his tongue and slicking his fingers, easily able to slip two into his lover. "Look at you, taking my fingers... so eager.. did you like my _tongue_ , James?"

"Y-yes, Seb," he managed to say, focusing on the feeling of Seb's fingers pressed inside of him.

He pumped and scissored the digits, leaning back in to kiss and lavish his lover's scarred back. "Wanna make sure... don't hurt you," he mumbled, worrying the longest, deepest scar ever so gently with his lips and teeth, licking it all better afterwards.

Jim arched and keened. " _Ah_... Of course. Please, Sebby... _please_. I need you in me..."

Withdrawing his fingers and very liberally slicking his arousal, "Are you _sure_?"

"I'm sure. Now _please_."

Slowly, the blonde pressed into the tight entrance of the King of Hell, seizing a chunk of skin from the back of Jim's neck in his mouth, all for the world like a mother Tiger carrying her cub. Jim arched and keened as Seb breached his entrance, feeling so very _full_. "F- _fuck_! OhfuckinghellSebby..." he gasped, rocking back into his lover.

Kissing and nipping his way to the base of Jim's wings, the Tiger began to roll his hips. "So _tight_ and _hot_ ," he groaned, nuzzling the very base of the appendages before kissing them as well, his hands on Jim's hips.

Jim's eyes rolled back into his head as he felt Seb's mouth on the base of his wings. He let his torso drop fully onto the bed, biting the sheets as Seb worked in and out of him. "Oh Seb... oh _Seb_! You feel-so-fucking-good..." he moaned.

"How-about-now?" he asked, Jim's change in position perfect to give a sudden snap of his hips and hit the being's prostate.

Jim gasped and bucked. " _AH_!!!" he cried out, the feeling of pleasure white-hot and intense as it burned through him. "Do-that- _again_!"

"Yes- _sir_." The Tiger obeyed, withdrawing slowly only to snap his hips hard.

The smaller being hissed in pleasure as his lover continued to thrust into him, but something was missing. "Touch me, Sebby... _need_ you to touch me," he gasped.

Speeding up his movements, Seb wrapped himself around the smaller creature and let one hand trail down to gently run along Jim's very hard and dripping arousal. Smearing a bit of the precum with his thumb, Seb started stroking in counterpoint to his pounding into Jim. _This_ was what he'd dreamed of, something just like this, with the King of Hell submitting for him. And now that it was here, it was perfect.

Jim groaned, so close to the edge he could taste it. "Sebastian... my only... I love you!" he cried out. With another snap of Seb's hips, he was gone, writhing underneath his lover as he came.

With the combination of Jim's cry of ecstasy and the sudden extreme tightening of his hole, Seb wasn't able to hold on, thrusting erratically and whimpering his love for Jim until he managed to soften, slipping out and collapsing next to the being on the bed. "That was... the _best_... ever..."

Jim purred and, still twitching slightly in the aftershocks of his pleasure, curled up around Seb, his fingers slipping through his lover's feathers. "Indeed it was, my love," he said, nuzzling into the larger being's chest.

"Why the sudden change of heart? Not that I'm complaining or anything... I've... I've actually been dreaming about exactly that for, oh, the last two millennia. Possibly the last three."

"Wanted to make it special, last night before we go to War. After all, the next time we fuck, we'll be in Paradise," Jim said, grinning as he pressed kisses along Seb's throat.

"I'm going to take you on the riverbank where I used to fish as a child, or maybe under the tree I used to climb, or on the footbridge overlooking the river... yes, you bent through the woodwork, holding on for dear life as I pound your _gorgeous_ arse."

Jim chuckled. "Ooh yes. And I'm going to take _you_ in the Hall of Archives... the Throne Room... underneath the Tree of Knowledge in Eden..." he murmured, punctuating each location with a kiss and a swift bite.

"Eat of the fruit while we fuck, trading bites of the apple... fuck me against your throne, amidst all those dusty, old books..."

He shivered in delight. "Mmmm; hot and sweaty and panting, _reeking_ of sex and of each other. Can't think of a better way to spend Eternity."

The blonde grinned, draping his wings over Jim and stroking him with them. "And Eternity by your side with you shagging my brains out? I'll never get dressed. I'll always be ready for you, any time, any place. It does, in fact, sound _perfect_."

Jim laughed and kissed Seb soundly on the mouth. "Anywhere with you is perfect to me," he murmured.


	14. Sacrifice

Sherlock rose early the next morning, dressed before John was even awake. He stood at the door to his friend's room one last time, looking down at the sleeping blonde, a single tear breaking free of his eyes. Wiping it away, the Watcher slipped from the flat and flew to the Gates. _Now or Never._

Molly was there, silent and drawn. She had been up all night learning and re-learning the spell. If it didn't go right, she really could kill him. She looked at Sherlock and the sadness in his eyes. Swallowing hard, she instinctively held out her hand.

The corner of his mouth twitching slightly, Sherlock took it, steeling his resolve. "I'm ready."

She squeezed his hand slightly and guided him through the Gates. The Host and the Horde were already starting to assemble... she could smell the brimstone as Hell opened up and the soldiers of the damned began to pour through, filing in rank upon rank outward, with Lucifer and his second-in-command at their head.

"This way," he hissed, tugging Molly into the shadows before they had been seen. The Watcher let his eyes dart about, taking in everything he could about the scene, particularly the nearly visible bond between Lucifer and... _The Tiger_.

oOoOo

John woke up; Sherlock was already gone. The Summons went out for all the Host to assemble at the Gates and prepare for battle. John swallowed hard and buckled on his sword and his armor. Without second-guessing himself, he took along Sherlock's favorite blue scarf: a favor to keep him fighting, to remind him that he had someone and something to return home for... his best friend, the person he trusted and cared for most.

oOoOo

"Are you really, _really_ sure this is going to work? _Please_ tell me that we haven't come all this way just to get dropped back downstairs."

Jim snorted, his eyes flicking to the shining Gates that led home. "Of course I'm sure. If this wasn't going to work, I wouldn't have attempted it in the first place," he said.

"Just checking. I trust you."

Jim smiled. "Good." His keen eyes caught movement in the shadows. "Well well well... look who's early to the party! The Watcher, come to observe, I suppose. And our favorite little Raven. Hullo, Molls... I've _missed_ you," he said, his voice a parody of affection. Molly bristled and put her wings up, the dark feathers going around Sherlock as if to shield him.

The dark-haired Angel stepped forward into the early morning sun, the light reflecting on his wings. "Ah, how the mighty have fallen."

Seb growled and Jim stopped him from going to the Watcher by placing a hand on his wrist. "But I shall rise again, my dear. I know you've figured it out, my cunning little plan... you were always so damnably _clever_ ," he spat. Then he noticed the Host filing in and taking their places behind the Gates, arrayed in shining mail. "And it seems we have a bit of an audience! Perfect timing; they all get to watch as I retake my rightful place," the King of Hell said, grinning. John grit his teeth as he saw the Tiger; the old wound in his shoulder burned as he remembered the blade that went through it.

Shaking his head slightly, Sherlock began to chuckle, his last suspicion confirmed. The Devil truly had no idea that he needed a sacrifice, or that the one he was about to give would save everyone.

Jim's smile faded, and the first tinge of unease began to uncoil in his gut. "What? What did I miss?" he said, raising an eyebrow.

"Always so sure of yourself. Did you know that's why you lost the first time? And why you'll lose again today?"

The King bristled, baring his teeth. "I won't lose. I've come too far and done too much to lose," he snarled.

Sherlock fixed him with his grey-blue stare, extending his wings fully. _I love you, John, and I always will_. "And what if your copy of the prophecy were incomplete?"

"I would have known it."

"Really? Are you _truly_ sure about that? Because it will cost you dearly to be wrong once more."

"I'm _sure_. Now stop your stalling. I can just kill you first. It's so lucky that Death is behind you... I find that fitting."

"She'll serve her purpose soon enough. It would seem that you're missing the fourth ingredient for your spell."

"And that is...?" Jim asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"A willing sacrifice."

Jim chuckled. "Oh? Are you volunteering? That _would_ make my job just so much easier."

The Watcher kept himself very carefully under control. "I am. Before God and the Host of Heaven as my witness, I offer myself as a sacrifice."

The King of Hell looked pleasantly surprised. "Well! Thank you. Thank you very much, Watcher..." he said. There was a massed whispering through the Host. John paled. _No... it couldn't be. This wasn't happening..._

The taller being knelt, his head bowed and wings draped gracefully out against the clouds on either side. _Now, Molly_.

Taking a shaking breath, the Angel of Death laid her hands on Sherlock's shoulders and began the spell, the High Enochian rolling off her tongue, each word precise. She felt the heat of his Grace as she drew it from him, as his wings started to lose their feathers and drop out. A sickening _crack_ rent the air as his wings fell away entirely, leaving him flightless. With a final, clear "Amen!", she held the shining light that made him a divine being. The floor gave way beneath Sherlock, now Human... and he Fell.

There was a short silence. Then...

"SHERLOCK!" John shouted. He aimed a spell at Lucifer and fired it, to defend his home and avenge his friend.

Sebastian saw the Healer move and threw himself in front of Jim without thinking, only knowing that he couldn't let his lover die. He _had_ to do his job, protect the Morning Star at all costs. The spell hit Seb in the back, and Jim froze as he saw his lover fall to the ground with a thud. "Seb!" he yelled, going to cradle him.

The Tiger coughed, gasping to try and breathe properly. "J-Jim-"

"Shh, don't speak, love. You'll be fine! You'll be fine..." he said, his face and his voice frantic as he tried to stop the blood. Molly felt the pull of the summons... he wouldn't be long, and she would have to go and do her job.

"No... d-don't try and... save me... at least... I got to save you."

"Don't talk like that! You're going to _live_ , Sebastian Moran," he said. But there was a shadow that crossed them. Molly knelt by Seb's side.

"Get away! Get _away_ from him, you bitch!" Jim screamed at her, reaching for his sword in desperation. She shot him a look that froze him to his place, and gently gathered Seb into her lap.

"Come here, Sebastian," she said softly. "I've got you." She cradled him in her arms and slowly passed her hand over his eyes, closing them.

"I love you," he whispered with his dying breath. Then the Warrior, the fearsome Tiger relaxed, his chest ceasing to move.

Jim went pale as he heard Seb's final words. "Give him back," he said softly. "Give him _back_!" Molly looked at him sadly.

"I can't. You _know_ I can't, Jimmy," she murmured. His expression went from one of despair to one of rage.

"Then when I conquer, you will be the first to be put to the sword," he snarled. He stood and recited the spell; it rocketed outwards, hitting the Gates to Heaven. Jim watched gleefully as... nothing happened.

"But... but it should have _worked_ ," he said brokenly as he fell to his knees.

"Lucifer..." a voice said. Jim blanched. He knew that voice.

"Father..." he whispered weakly.

"Lucifer... _Jim_ ," the voice was soft and kind and so very sad. "I'm going to give you another chance. Just say you're sorry... and you can come home. Please..." it said. Jim laughed, the sound neither mocking nor glad.

"How can I come home when my Seb isn't there? Wherever _he_ is, _is_ home. And he's _gone_..." he said, his voice dead and hollow. The Fallen's wings, gray and black, began to crumble and fall to pieces: ash and smoke, blown away on the wind.

There was a sigh. Jim had made his choice.

"Then so be it." The shockwave of the fired spell rocketed back, the seven souls finding their way to the Angel of Death. Jim said nothing, he never fought; he merely Fell for a second time, the Horde driven back into the Pit, fleeing from the divine light that spread from the Host.

The entrance to Hell snapped shut, and all was silent.


	15. Aftermath

John Watson sank to his knees behind the Gates, hot tears leaking from his eyes. He couldn't move, couldn't think. "Sherlock," he whispered, "Oh dear God, no. _Sherlock_."

Molly swallowed hard and went back through into Heaven, the souls of the Tiger and the seven murdered angels safely tucked away for the moment. _John_... she went up to him and hesitated, standing at a slight distance. Slowly, the Healer looked up at the Angel of Death, pure fury and pain in his normally cool and loving blue gaze. " _Why_ did you kill him? What the blazes were you THINKING?!" he roared, leaping to his feet and shoving her against the Gates. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you too. I've sent one soul to its Maker already today."

She winced as her back and her wings hit the unyielding metal of the entrance to Heaven. "He's not dead!" she said.

The words didn't penetrate at first... then confusion crept into his gaze. "He's... _what_?" John snarled.

"He's not dead, John. He's human."

The Healer staggered back, his rage suddenly gone and overwhelming sadness and loss taking its place. " _No_... nononononono. He Fell. I just watched him FALL! _You_ helped him do it! He said NOTHING to me! NOTHING!" John's voice broke on the last word and he dissolved into tears, unable to process everything.

Molly stepped forward, away from the Gates. "He knew what it would do to you if he told you, John," she said, her voice breaking. "He knew it would kill you if he told you..." She caught him as he fell to his knees, weeping.

"It'll kill me anyway," he whispered, clutching at her robes. "I could have _helped_ , done something... _anything_."

"He did it to keep you safe; he was terrified that you would have been hurt," Molly said, moving her hand through his hair, tears pouring down her face, and as they fell, her feathers began to drop... one by one.

" _Why_? Why me? How am I so special in all of this?"

"Because he _loves_ you, John. He loves you so much..."

The blonde's head snapped up, shock written across his features. " _Me_?"

She looked him in the eyes. "Yes, John. You. He was willing to Fall for _you_. And Lucifer can never try to get into Heaven again; Sherlock's sacrifice negated any spell that would have caused him to come back."

It was too much to try and take in at once, John shaking his head as if to sort it out. "He Fell... for me. If... if he loved... _loves_ me, then why did he never say anything? Why'd he keep it to himself?"

"Because he didn't know if you loved him back..." Another feather gone, then four more. "He was so scared that you didn't return his feelings."

"I... I think maybe... I do." The revelation was too much for the being, all of the loss and pain making his wings ache with a low, dull burn. Only then did he notice the growing puddle of black-blue feathers. "Molly! Your wings."

She stifled a sob in her throat and nodded. It felt as if her soul was being torn to pieces; it hurt, it _hurt_ so much. "I... I love him," she said quietly, so quietly that she hoped that John wasn't able to hear her. "I never told him, but I love him. And to help him Fall? To take away his Grace and his wings, to know that he'll never love me back and to help him and let him go? It _hurts_ , John."

The Healer gathered the Angel of Death in his arms, the first time he had truly, voluntarily touched her. The blonde being held her close, murmuring an incantation to dull the pain, unable to stop her feathers falling out. Molly wept as though her heart would split, soaking his armor with her tears. As she cried, her feathers fell out one by one, and the flight muscles peeled off and faded away, leaving shining white bone exposed, raw and vulnerable.

"It's all right, Molly. It really is. _I forgive you_."

She looked up at him, her eyes clouded by confusion, pain and tears. " _Why_? I would understand it if you hated me 'till the end of Time..."

"Because it will do me no good to hold a grudge against you for this. Now, Sherlock, I want to wring his pale neck, but you helped to save us, Molly. You helped avert another War, and for that, I will _always_ be grateful."

With a shuddering breath, the Angel of Death hugged the Healer hard, then stood, helping him up. "Thank you, John," she said quietly. "Thank you so much..."

"Now, where the _fuck_ is he so I can kill him?"

"On Earth, obviously," a voice said. They both jumped and turned; it was Mycroft. The Metatron's eyes were red, as if he had been crying as well. "He has no memories of Heaven; he only knows his name and that he's brilliant. He's set himself up as a 'consulting detective', whatever that is."

"You've been spying on him, then. How long has it been... for him, I mean."

"It's been two and a half months for him... time passes differently on Earth. And of course I've been watching him. You didn't just lose your best friend, John Watson... I lost my only brother," he said, the pain showing in his voice.

"And was I the only one oblivious to the fact that your brother is-was- _is_ in love with me?" His tone was light but there was a hard edge to it. Some part of him really just wanted to punch someone... and if Mycroft didn't say something useful soon, he'd be first on the list.

"Apparently. And, as a gift... wait three days. Three years for them... but three days here. Wait three days, and you can spend a day with him on Earth," Mycroft said.

John's eyes widened. "R-really?" he whispered. "I can see him again?"

"Would I lie to you after all this? Of course you can see him again. But a single day, John. That was all I was able to negotiate."

He nodded, fighting back tears once more. The Healer clutched the scarf around his neck tightly, breathing deeply and treasuring the scent that still lingered in the fabric. "Is it twenty-four hours?"

"Sunrise to sunset."

His heart began to burn, the tears falling again. "Thank you," he murmured, kneeling in deference before taking off, back to the now empty flat he called home.

Molly swallowed hard as she saw John fly off; the feathers on his wings had shriveled, some of them looking torn and tattered as if they had seen the battlefield. She bowed to Mycroft but was surprised when he helped her up.

"You did a very brave thing in helping my brother fulfill his oath. I'm glad that you gave him a second chance. And, because it was willing and his Grace is in your hands-" Mycroft placed his own upon her shoulders and murmured a few words in Enochian. "His Grace will be a part of you until it is time to collect him. You may return it only then and bring him Home."

She bowed her head. "Thank you, sir," she murmured before she turned and walked away; she could no longer fly, after all. And she would wait until that day came when she had to collect Sherlock's soul, until she could return his Grace to him.

The Metatron stared after the Angel of Death, her skeletal wings glinting in the sunlight. "A day of endings and beginnings," he mused, sighing heavily. He needed two things right at that moment: a large brandy, and the Captain of the Guard. Both would help him with the fact that he'd been forced to watch his baby brother fall... had guaranteed that it would happen in the first place.

oOoOo

Molly had one last task before she could go back home and finally rest; she brought the souls of the murdered Angels to the special chamber in the Halls of Waiting, where every soul waited to be reborn, and sent them on their way. Lastly, she took out Seb's; his being the most recent, he came back right away, looking no worse for wear. She gave him a soft smile. "Hullo, Sebastian," she said.

The Tiger blinked on the table, confused, disoriented. "Wha-? Where am I? What's going on?"

She helped him sit up slowly. "You've been Redeemed, Seb. You're in Heaven."

"I've what?"

"You've been Redeemed. You sacrificed yourself for the one you loved, and that redeemed your soul. You're not a Fallen anymore," she explained gently.

"No... _no_. No no no NO!" The blonde roared in anger and frustration. "He's not here, is he? Fucking twat rejected heaven, I bet. That fucking IDIOT!"

She nodded. "He... he said that it wasn't home if you weren't there... I guess he thought you were sent back to Hell."

"I'm. Going. To. Fucking. MURDER HIM! HE LEFT ME!!!" Sebastian tried to get up, but his body wasn't ready for that, dumping him flat on his face on the cold marble floor.

Molly helped him stand. "He thought you were _gone_ , Seb," she said, her voice still gentle but an underlying hint of steel tingeing it. "He saw me take you, and thought you had gone back to Hell. He lost his wings, Sebastian. He lost his wings for you."

The Tiger blanched. "Oh no... no I gotta go back. I gotta get back to him. I have to-" Something burned in him to say those words, making him gasp in absolute agony.

Molly steadied him, one hand on his chest. "Easy, easy... you're going to have to get used to it; you're not a Fallen any more, you have a pure soul again," she said.

"It's heavy. It hurts. I want _Jim_."

She sighed, the bones on her back rattling gently. "I know. I'm sorry, Seb."

Finding his balance, he jerked his arm from her grasp and stumbled from the room. Redemption be damned, he _would_ find a way back to Jim if it was the last thing he did.

oOoOo

Jim sat in his great lonely room, staring at the floor, his back burning. He had already searched the entry gates to Hell, hoping to find Seb there, waiting for him, but Seb didn't come through them, didn't appear; he returned to his room, feeling more dead than alive. The King of Hell felt both light and heavy at the same time; his wings were gone, leaving two more long scars that marred his skin... and these would always be the reminder of just how much he'd lost.

He went to his bed, to try to sleep, to forget, and he blanched. A long, white-orange-gold feather lay on his pillow. one of Seb's. He fell to his knees, breath driven out of him, fingers trembling as he picked it up.

_One of his pinions: a flight feather. A gift for **him**._

Jim clutched it to his chest, and the King of Hell began to weep, head bowed, for his lost love. After a long time, he began to speak;

"God... please... give him back to me... _please, God, give him back_..."


	16. Wait For Me

The day dawned clear and beautiful, an unusual sight given all of the recent rainfall in the city. Sherlock was up before the sun, only needing two hours or so of sleep and a hot cup of coffee before he was fully alert and experimenting.

John swallowed hard and pulled his coat tighter around him. Today was the day, the one day he had with Sherlock. The three days had indeed felt as long as three years, and he knew that this short period would pass in a blink of an eye.

The doorbell started ringing before Big Ben had tolled seven in the morning. "Shut. Up!" Sherlock hollered at it, concentrating on his titration experiment. John snickered as he heard Sherlock bellow down the stairs. He really hadn't changed. He rang the bell again, and knocked this time as well.

Groaning and unable to ignore the noise, Sherlock carefully set down his equipment and stalked downstairs, throwing the door open. "What is so important that it couldn't wait? _Don't_ be boring."

The Healer swallowed hard. _Sherlock_. "My best friend went missing three days ago; he left no clues to where he went, and I think he had a fall before he was gone. I'm... I'm worried about him and I want to be sure he's all right. I heard that you're the best..." he said, willing his voice not to shake after not seeing Sherlock for what felt like an eternity. He looked the same: still pale and thin with those sharp cheekbones and even sharper blue eyes, his curly black hair still falling everywhere. He even had that same stupid coat with the collar turned up.

"Where is the last place you saw him?" The detective cocked his head slightly, eyes narrowing. "Soldier, doctor, been in a terrible War, injured in the left shoulder and still have a tremor in your left hand on occasion. Bit of adrenaline should fix that right up. Not one for a quiet life, and you cared very deeply about this friend, deeper than you realized, his disappearance bringing that to light."

"I... I do. And I last saw him..." John's brain worked quickly "in the park. We met for lunch there. He said he'd catch me later... and he never did."

"Regent's or Hyde Park?"

"Hyde Park. And I'm John, by the way. John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes, consulting detective. Well then, John, I suppose we should see about your friend. Did he tell you anything of what he was doing? Where he was going? If this is going to work, I need to know all the details you can give me."

"Well, he said something about visiting his brother later, which was odd. They didn't get along very well."

"Ah, strained relationship. Could have been the brother, but you wouldn't have come to me just for that." The hopped in a cab, taking off for Hyde Park.

John hid a smile as he settled into the cab next to Sherlock. It was just like old times, him being dragged along on whatever Sherlock had to do. The trip didn't take too long, and soon they were strolling through the trees as the sun rose over London. "All right, then. Can you tell me anything else?"

"Well, he was brilliant, always thinking, never stopping. Could always figure out if someone was lying or not. Got him in trouble more than once, actually, but I was always there to help pull him out of it..." John said fondly.

"And why now? Why three days? If you were so concerned, you should have filed a missing person's report. Why didn't you?

"Because the police are too slow. I know if I went right to you, I'd have a better chance of finding my friend quicker."

"You think he's in danger? Is he in with a bad crowd? No, stupid question. you're a man of high moral standing. you wouldn't hang around someone like that."

"As I said, he often gets himself into trouble; he speaks his mind, even if others don't like what they hear, and that's gotten us on the foul side of things more than once," John said.

Sherlock was about to respond when a scream rent the air. Eyes lighting up, he took off, coat billowing out behind him as he ran.

"Come on, John!"

John sighed and then chuckled to himself. _Exactly_ like old times.

The screaming stopped short, and the detective put on a burst of speed, skidding to a stop beside the bloody and battered body of a young woman. "This is the third one in the last two weeks," he muttered to himself, eyes searching the crime scene as he shot off a text to the head DI at Scotland Yard: Dimmock. He then crouched by the side of the woman, examining everything he could think of before turning out her pockets.

John's gaze hardened as he saw the poor young woman; Molly was there in the background, doing her job. She nodded and smiled sadly before she vanished, completely unseen by Sherlock. "Oh my God..." John said. "Do you know what happened?"

"Serial killers, always hard, have to wait for them to make a mistake." He smiled up at John, positively beaming. "Her mobile is gone. And based off the pattern of footprints here... he trailed off, staring into the trees. "This way!"

He was off again, and once more, John followed, running after the long legs of the former Watcher, now Consulting Detective.

oOoOo

The chase went on all morning, the trail finally going cold around eleven. Frustrated, Sherlock yelled and slammed a fist into a nearby tree. "Should go back. Can track the phone... but why take it unless... oh yes, _yes_ , she knew him! And he didn't have enough time to wipe the memory for calls, messages, pictures... oh brilliant. We have him now. We can catch him today, get Dimmock to calm down and stop hyperventilating. Gets so annoying."

John stared at him in awe and shook his head. Even now that he was human, Sherlock's mind was still as quick as ever. "Amazing. Brilliant!" he said as he walked beside the other man on their way to Scotland Yard.

Sherlock glanced at him, giving him a slightly odd look. "You really think so?"

"Of course! Figuring all of this out from her _mobile_? It's fantastic!"

"That's not what people normally say."

"Oh? And what do they normally say?"

"Piss off."

John blinked... then he started laughing, bent double with his mirth. "Oh, now that's just not f-fair," he gasped. "I think what you do is astounding! You really are the best."

A slightly shy smile crept across Sherlock's face. "I-thank you, John."

John blushed a bit. "Oh. You're welcome, Mr. Holmes."

Please, call me Sherlock."

He grinned widely. "All right. You're welcome, Sherlock."

oOoOo

They spent a good portion of the middle of the day at Scotland Yard, the police finally able to pinpoint the location of the culprit; by the time they got close, it was already three in the afternoon.

John was pressed flat to the wall of the alley next to Sherlock, his heart pounding in his ears. The murderer was, according to the man beside him, right around the corner. He took a deep breath and looked at him before the taller man gave him a reassuring nod.

Creeping around the corner, Sherlock jumped the culprit, wrestling the phone from his hands and checking it over for the information he needed.

"Oi! The fuck are you on about, mate?" the man said, struggling. "That's my phone!"

"No, it isn't. It belongs to Cady Elizabeth Green. You murdered her this morning along with several other girls in the past few weeks."

The man went white, then red with rage. "You _fucker_ ," he hissed, hand going into his coat pocket. "It's _your_ fault...!"

John's eyes went wide as the murderer advanced. Swiftly stepping in between Sherlock and the other man, he brought his fist back and punched the younger man square in the nose. The murderer staggered back, clutching his broken proboscis, blood dripping through his fingers. Using his fighting skills, John got behind him and pinned his arms back, making sure he wouldn't be able to move forward or go for a weapon.

"You have a phone, now call the police!" John said as the man struggled.

Startled from staring as John singlehandedly took down the man, Sherlock dialed and gave their location.

The police got there within moments, taking the murderer away from John. Dimmock was even kind enough to give them a ride in a squad car back to 221B Baker Street.

Sherlock was positively thrumming when they got back up to the flat, solving a murder doing wonders for his boredom levels. He threw his coat over a chair and slumped back against the wall as the adrenaline began to wear off.

"HAH! That was _brilliant_!" John enthused, practically bouncing off the walls when they got inside the flat. Hardly knowing why he did it, he grabbed the taller man and kissed him soundly on the mouth, lips fused with his.

Sherlock's eyes widened for a second, completely shocked and surprised, but then he relaxed into it, something inside of him clicking as if he'd wanted to do that his entire life. His arms slipped around John's back, holding him close as he returned the kiss.

John's eyes went wide as well, having not expected Sherlock to reciprocate... or for it to feel that _right_. Finally breaking the embrace, he backed away slightly, looking up at Sherlock as they both panted a little. "I... I'm sorry... about that. Last thing you want is to be kissed by a complete stranger, right?" he said, rubbing the back of his neck.

"But... you aren't..." Sherlock could feel things shifting in his mind and had the strong impression that a great cloak was being lifted and suddenly-

" _John_."

John looked at him, a little concerned. "You all right?"

"You _kissed_ me... I _remember_... John, I remember! You- _you_ kissed me... you have _no_ idea how long I've wanted to do that."

His eyes wide and shining with joyful tears, John grinned. "You... you _remember_! Oh my God, Sherlock," he choked out, wrapping his best friend in a fierce embrace.

The Fallen Angel clutched John to him as tight as he could, covering the top of his head with kisses. "I don't know how long I have. I couldn't tell you... I'm so sorry, John. I-I couldn't bear the thought of you dead over me, faded, withered, gone or killed in the battle."

"I have only 'til sunset, Sherlock... then I have to get back," he murmured. "And.. I forgive you. I know... I understand. Molly told me everything."

"The memories won't stay... Mycroft's only given me a short while... oh John. _John_." He tilted his friend's head up to look him in the eye before kissing him again, cradling his face with pale hands and gently stroking the Healer's cheekbones.

John kissed him back, finally realizing just how much he truly cared for the former Watcher. He drew back to press gentle kisses to Sherlock's sharp cheekbones, now wet with tears. "God, I miss you so much," he choked out.

"Wait for me. When you have to leave, when this has to end and I forget again, wait for me. Can you promise me this, John?"

"I swear it, Sherlock. However long it takes, I'll wait."

Smiling just for the blonde in his arms, Sherlock murmured, "Good." Turning them slowly, he pressed John against the wall and kissed him again, his tongue more adventurous and sure of itself this time as it licked along the seam of the Angel's lips. John parted his lips, allowing Sherlock access to his mouth, tongue dancing with his. The Healer's hands slid up the man's body and buried themselves in his hair, the dark curls silky and incredibly soft to the touch.

The detective groaned, pressing closer as he devoured John's mouth. He'd waited so long, kept his feelings locked up for so many years, that to finally do this was electrifying. Breaking the kiss, he mouthed his way along John's jaw to his ear. " _I love you_."

John shivered. "I love you too, Sherlock. I really do."

"I think I always have. It got so difficult, keeping it hidden from you. I wanted so desperately to say something, but I couldn't. I was terrified you'd leave, that you wouldn't return it. I couldn't stand to lose you. You keep me sane, John. I'm better around you, and I Fell to save you. The full prophecy said that I had to do it, but I did it for _you_."

"I know, Sherlock... I _know_ ," John murmured.

"Then kiss me, _please_. Even though I'll forget... let me give you something to remember me by until I can return."

The Healer chuckled. "Oh, I can most certainly do that." He kissed Sherlock with all the love he finally knew he felt for him, all the pain he'd experienced when he saw him Fall, and all the joy that filled him with the thought that the man he loved would return, even if he did have to wait. The taller man gasped as John took control, moaning loudly into his mouth and carding his hands through the short, blonde hair he loved so much. He knew his time was running out, but he didn't care. This was the time when they kissed, and he knew John would wait for him. It would be a long time, but he could do it.

John kissed him until they ran out of air... and he felt the tug of the Summons bringing him back. "I have to go, Sherlock," he said softly. "I'll wait for you... I swear it. I _swear_ it."

The detective's eyes burned with tears. "I don't want you to go. Please... John, I don't want to lose you again." but the memories were slowly beginning to fade, one by one vanishing back behind the veil in his mind.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock, I have to," he said, tears burning his own eyes. "But... before I go... I hope you can see this..." Shrugging off his coat, John stepped back and spread his wings, knowing that they were healed now that he admitted that he loved Sherlock and knew that love was returned.

The former Watcher gasped. "C-can I? _Please_?"

Swallowing hard, John nodded. "Of course," he said softly.

Crossing the two strides to the Angel, Sherlock reached out and reverently brushed his fingers along the feathers, his shoulder blades aching with longing. "They're even more gorgeous than I remembered," he breathed. The memories started to fade faster, his head aching. "Y-you have to go... I won't remember any of today when the veil closes..." He pressed a final kiss to John's lips, breathing in his scent. "Your old jumper is under the floorboards in my room if you want it back."

Catching his breath as he felt Sherlock's hands on his wings he nodded. "I love you," he murmured into the kiss. "I love you, I _love_ you." And with an aching heart and a final glance, he was pulled up to Heaven for a long wait.

When John vanished, Sherlock had a few moments of intense loss, crumpling to the floor and sobbing like he hadn't in... he didn't know when. The veil finally slid back into place and blocked out every single memory of his former life and of the adventures of the day. Picking himself up, Sherlock dried his face, confused as to the origin of the tears and the noticeable lack of physical injuries that would have caused such a reaction. Shaking his head and dismissing it, he returned to the kitchen table and his experiments, the consulting detective alone once more.


	17. Choosing Him

A month of searching with no results and Seb was starting to get desperate. The first time he'd Fallen had been because he'd followed Jim, but now... now he was redeemed and trapped in Heaven without the creature. Yet, even though he pined for Jim every day, his wings stayed their full, glorious selves. He couldn't fathom it. Every law said that they should be broken and twisted remains from the amount of pain he was in.

oOoOo

The days passed in Hell without meaning. Jim was much quieter now, taking less joy in the torture and torment of the souls of the damned. But just because he was quieter didn't mean that he was lax. If anything, he ran a tighter ship than ever before, and those who slacked off were often found with their heads (or other various body parts, depending on how badly they'd fucked up) on pikes in front of the throne room. No one mentioned Lucifer's lack of wings, and, in the case of one unfortunate idiot who did so, he found himself being personally disemboweled by the King of Hell himself.

The nights, though, were the worst. Jim barely slept, pacing the halls and streets of his city, his heart aching, his scars on fire. He couldn't go to Heaven to fetch his lover back. And why _would_ Seb want to come back to him anyway? He was Redeemed now, he was certain of it.

"I don't blame you for not picking me," he said aloud. He'd formed that habit, talking aloud to Seb even though he knew he was gone. " _I_ wouldn't have picked me. But it _hurts_ , Tiger. It hurts having you gone..."

oOoOo

Finally, out of ideas, desperate, alone, and depressed, Seb found himself walking along the river, muttering under his breath. He slowed to a stop, looking out over the water from the bridge he'd described to Jim when they had been planning all of the different places they would shag after securing Heaven...

The blonde dropped to one knee, pulling out his best knife. "You can't hear me, but just in case you can, I pledge myself to Him. To Lucifer. To the Morning Star. To the Traitor of Heaven. I pledge to him my life, my body, my soul, everything I have is his. So I have sworn, and so it shall be, Forever and ever... Amen."

He slashed his palm, spilling sacred blood on the white wood of the bridge. There was an almighty crack, a feeling like fire burning straight through him, and darkness swallowed the Tiger.

oOoOo

Jim was wandering the streets again when there was a horrific - _CRACK_ \- as something fell to the ground of Hell. He could feel the shockwave as it hit and his heart faltered. There was only one thing that could make a shockwave that large: an Angel. Gathering his magic around him, he transported himself to the area; it wasn't hard to find, but it _was_ hard to see: smoke and fire and rubble, the air thick and choked with dust. He conjured a wind to blow it all away, walking to the edge of the pit, hoping.... hoping against all hope.

_His head ached like it had been split in two, and he could barely breathe for all the smoke and brimstone... wait..._

"Come out, come out, whoever you are..." Jim said, sing-songing the words. His heart ached more... if it wasn't Seb, he didn't know what he'd do.

" _Jim_ ," he croaked, struggling from the crater and slipping at the lip, tumbling back down and skidding to a halt on his face. The Tiger's entire form ached and trembled as he lay there, still coughing weakly.

It was faint, but he had heard it. His heart stopped. Jim slid down the pit and ran to where Seb was, lifting him up and cradling him in his lap. "Tiger... Seb... _Sebastian_... My love, my only, is it you?"

"'lo, Jimmy," he whimpered, barely conscious. "Hurts..."

Jim let out a breath that was more like a sob. Not waiting, he transported them to his bedroom, deep in the palace. "You're... you're _home_ , love. I've got you..."

"'M all dirty... head hurts... wanna shower."

"All right... okay. C'mon, darling. Up you get. I'll go give you a bath."

Letting the King of Hell support and lead him, Seb stumbled over to the tub, automatically stripping before getting in while Jim ran the water. Jim guided Seb into the tub, the water steaming, being careful to avoid his wings; he didn't want to touch them until Seb gave his permission. "Tilt your head back, Seb. I'll rinse the dust from your hair. And it should help with the headache."

"Kay, Boss." Keeping his eyes closed (he had barely opened them since landing in Hell), Seb leaned back in the tub, moaning when he felt Jim's hands on his scalp.

"I was... I was afraid you'd not return to me. Certain of it, even," Lucifer said quietly.

"Doubting me? Really? The fuck would I stay up there unless I was stuck? Which I was, by the way."

Jim choked out a laugh. "Why choose Hell when you have Heaven?"

"Because Paradise isn't the same without you."

Jim took a short breath and let it out, fetching the shampoo and washing Seb's golden hair, grown longer in his time away from Hell. He reached for the cloth and soap after he rinsed the suds out. "Can you sit up a little? Need to wash off the rest of the dust," he said, his voice thick.

"Sure." His head was already clearing, and Seb slowly opened his eyes as he sat forward. "I've never been lonelier in my life than the last month. And all I could think about was how stupid you were to reject redemption and leave me behind."

Anger sparked in Jim's eyes. "I thought you were _gone_ , Seb. I didn't know about that damned second part of the fucking prophecy! If I'd known you were going to... to _die_ , I would _never_ have gone!" he spat.

"YOU LEFT ME! You know what happens to souls collected by the Angel of Death and YOU LEFT ME!" the blonde roared, whirling around to face Jim. What anger was left died on his lips, his face a shocked mask. "Y-your-your wings..."

"I THOUGHT YOU WOULD BE COMING BACK TO HELL!!" Jim roared back. Then he noted Seb's shocked look on his face and smiled, the expression broken and cold. "Ah. You've noticed my little... _problem_. They turned to ash when you died. I'm grounded, Sebby. Left to walk like one of those fucking _monkeys_ He loves so much."

The Tiger got out of the tub, snatching a towel, drying off quickly, and shaking his hair out before going to stand before Jim. "I've never heard of that happening before," he murmured. "Turn around, Jim."

He laughed hollowly. "No. No, Seb, I think not. Just another set of scars to add to my _collection_ ," he said.

"Turn. Around. _Now_."

Jim swallowed hard. " _Fine_ ," he spat. He turned and tore off his shirt, baring his back to Seb. There were the scars from his first Falling, still red and angry-looking as they had been in the past, but there were two new ones, deep scars, black and burnt around the edges. These scars ran just along and under his shoulder blades, where his wings once were.

Sebastian couldn't stifle the gasp of shock, wandering forward and brushing his fingertips along the edges of the burns. "You're unique, Jimmy," he murmured before lowering his lips to the ruined skin and pressing a single kiss to each new scar

He laughed again, although it sounded more like crying. "Unique? _Unique_? I'm damaged goods, Sebby. Twisted, misshapen and broken. If you want to leave, I fully understand," he said.

"If you keep telling me to fuck off, then I might take you at your word. I Fell for _you_. I had a chance to do everything over again and I chose _you_ , gave up Heaven a second time for _you_."

" _Why_?"

"BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU!"

That broke the dam that had been built around Jim's heart for the time that Seb had been gone. He turned and threw his arms around the larger being's neck, sobbing as if his heart would break, pressing wet kisses to his shoulders and neck. "Oh God, oh God... I missed you _so much_..." he choked out.

Holding the King of Hell as if he could absorb him into his body, Seb clutched him close. "I thought about you every day. Every single thing in Heaven reminded me of you, of what I'd given up the moment I took that spell for you. I didn't stop looking for a way back, a way _home_."

Jim shuddered and kissed Seb hard on the mouth, as if he could drink him in. When he broke the kiss, they were both panting. "I got desperate, Sebby. I... fuck. I _prayed_. I prayed for you to come back to me. And even if I never speak of it again... Father answered me. He sent you _home_ to me..."

The larger creature's blue eyes widened in shock. "You prayed for me... _prayed_ for me... I need you to take me to bed _right now_. Fuck me until I can't see straight and I scream loud enough to wake the dead."

Jim smirked. "If your screams really _could_ wake the dead, then you'd nicely put that black-winged bitch out of a job. Let's test that theory, shall we?" he purred, some of his old cockiness coming back as he led Seb back to the bedroom, shutting the door and locking it.

"Love, I'd do anything to take that fucking cunt down after she stole me away from you."

Jim grinned, his teeth sharp and his eyes black. "Oh yes... make _her_ wings gone. You pull one, I pull the other. Rip them out by the _roots_ ," he snarled.

"Tear her to pieces, blood all over... I'd paint you with it, decorate your skin." Dropping his towel, Seb flopped down onto the bed, limbs splayed as he looked coyly at his lover. "Coming?"

Then he chuckled. "Yess... make ourselves a new mattress out of those feathers. Although I might keep her pinions as a trophy. A _featherduster_ ," he drawled. His eyes snapped to where Seb lay sprawled out on the bed. "Oooh, fuck, Seb. You have _no_ idea how good you look," he said, his voice husky. He stalked over to the bed, shedding clothes as he went.

"I know I cut a fine figure and all, but I think you might be drooling there, Boss."

"Don't care. Shut up and let me fuck you into the mattress, Tiger," Jim said, caging Seb's body with his own before kissing him deaf, blind and mute.

Moaning and growling, Sebastian threaded his finger's though Jim's hair and kissed back, his tongue fighting for dominance over his lover's. He rocked up, desperate for friction as he grew hard in record time. Jim gasped and ground against Seb, so hard that it was nearly painful. "I'll make love to you later... now, we're _shagging_ ," he said, fumbling for the bottle of lube and slicking up his fingers, sliding one slowly into Seb's entrance.

"FUCKINGHELL!" the blonde roared, rocking down on the invading finger. "Fuck me blind, Jim. Pound me, take me, I'm fucking _yours_."

Jim smirked, merely adding a second finger before scissoring and curling them inside of his lover, driving them ever so slightly deeper. Sebastian's breathing stopped when Lucifer brushed his prostate. " _Yes_ ," he moaned, writhing and twisting. "Not enough... still not enough."

"Oh, trust me, I know," Jim said, removing his fingers. He slicked himself up and slowly pressed his cock into Seb's tightness, his eyes rolling back into his head and groaning as he felt the heat of his lover's body surround him.

"Y-y-YES!" Sebastian's hands fisted in the sheets, his body burning and sweating and his cock hardening even more to see Jim above him. "Move, fuck you, MOVE."

Jim did, pulling almost all the way out before snapping his hips. He did this twice more, going agonizingly slowly outwards before slamming inwards. He began to press kisses and sharp bites to Seb's neck and collarbone as his thrusts gained more speed and rhythm. It was amazing, better than Sebastian ever remembered, the combination of pain and pleasure making his entire form hum. His wings fluttered and twitched, stretching out to either side of his body. "Touch them... oh touch them _please_."

Jim groaned and wound his fingers through the brilliant feathers, bending and mouthing them, pulling slightly, taking in their glorious scent and the vibrant colors. "Oh, Seb..." he murmured, "how I wish you could... do the same..."

"Stop talking and fuck me... forget the loss... I'm here now."

He nodded and picked up his pace, snarling as he pounded into his lover.

It was hot and animalistic, Seb's hole aching and burning with pain and pleasure. "Gonna cum... wanna cum... for you... I _love_ you!"

Jim added his hand into the mix, stroking and tugging at Seb's cock. He bent to his ear. "The cum for me, my heart," he purred. " _Scream my name_."

"Yes-yes-I-yes-JAMES!!!!" The newly Fallen screamed enough to shatter several mirrors in the room, coming hard as he saw blinding white, his body spasming and writhing.

The King of Hell snarled and spat as he came, emptying himself into his lover's willing body. "Oh fucking Hell, _Seb_ ," he groaned. "My Seb, how I love you..." As soon as he had spilled himself, though, he gave a shout of pain. His back was on fire, tearing, searing agony. It felt like he was being flayed with dull, hot knives and then, with a great shudder and a twist, two new wings emerged from his back. Ash-gray, as his old ones were... but streaked with a deep, dark, blood-red.

Seb was basking in the afterglow when he felt Jim stiffen, heard him cry. The blond opened his eyes in time to see the King of Hell twisting in pain and two, huge, _gorgeous_ wings unfurling from his back. Jim collapsed to the bed, white with pain, exhausted. "Oh fuck... am I dying?" he asked, his voice hoarse and cracked.

"Jimmy... no, you aren't dying." Sitting up slowly, Seb reached out in awe, fingertips brushing the new wings, tracing the dark red streaks. "So beautiful..."

He hissed and flinched away from the touch. Then his eyes went wide. Bounding from the bed, he raced on wobbly legs to the one remaining mirror. Tears began to pour down his face and he smiled, blinding in his joy. "I'm whole..." he said softly, spreading them to their full extent. "Seb... Seb, _look_ at me..."

Beaming, remembering when he had done the very same thing, the Tiger gave Jim his best, most blinding smile. "I am, and you're the most gorgeous creature I've ever seen."

Jim nearly tackled Seb, his arms going around him tightly. Catching the King easily, Seb kissed him, spinning him around. "Together. You and me, side by side. I'll never leave you, _ever_."

"Good."


	18. Grace

_"It's my time, then?" he asked, his voice still that rich baritone._

_She smiled and nodded._

_"Very well, specter. Drag me to perdition or what have you," he grumbled._

_She laughed softly and took his hand. He seemed confused._

_"No, silly," she chided him gently. "I'm not here to drag you to perdition."_

_"Then what? Out with it. I'm in no mood for your games."_

_"I'm here to take you Home."_

"What do you mean, 'take me Home?'" the aged detective asked.

"To Heaven, Sherlock," Molly said. "Come on... I need to give you something once we get to the Gates."

"I would say this is impossible, but I see and hear you with my eyes and ears."

"Yes, and you can see these as well," she said, spreading the skeletal frames of what had once been her wings. "Now hold tight."

"To what?" he started to ask when she took his hand, and he saw a bright flash of white light before they were standing before the Gates of Heaven: grandiose, gilded, and shining.

She steadied him as he staggered, biting back a chuckle as he blinked somewhat owlishly after the bright flash of their transport. "Are you all right?" She smiled somewhat sadly as she saw the age melt off of him, the white hair going black and the lines on his face smoothing away. He lost the stoop and stood straight and proud once more.

"Yes, perfectly fine-" The man glanced at his hands, eyes widening in shock. "How... what... this is... this is impossible. _I don't understand_."

"I'd try to explain, but then we'd be here for ages," she said, laughing a little. "I said I had something for you... are you ready?" she asked.

"I suppose. If it will help explain everything, then I am certainly willing to listen."

She nodded and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly and cupping his face in her hands. _Now or never_. "I give this to you, of my own free will and of yours. I have held this safe in my keeping, and now it is time for you to come _Home_ , Sherlock. I name you Watcher, and I return your Grace," she murmured. She pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him deeply, feeling the light of him leave her and find its rightful place. As soon as it had settled, she broke the kiss and took a step back; she had no idea what was going to happen.

Sherlock's eyes widened in surprise, feeling Molly's lips move against his, and as soon as it had started, the embrace was broken, but something was different. Something was very fundamentally different. A warm, bubbling sensation traveled from his lips through his body like lightning, picking up speed with every second, and suddenly he knew he had to get his shirt off; he didn't know why. Stripping his coat and purple shirt, he dropped them to the ground as a great wake of pain sliced through him. Crying in agony, Sherlock dropped to all fours, gasping for breath while something tried to burst its way out of his back. Shoulder blades burning, he yelled, pleading for it to stop as two magnificent midnight wings burst from the pale skin of his back, and the veil over his memories was obliterated.

Flooded with more information than he could humanly process, Sherlock tried to shut his mind down... only it cleared up in seconds as his true Angelic nature was restored. Eyes bright and knowing, he looked up at the Angel of Death with a smile on his face. " _Home_."

Eyes brimming with tears, she helped him stand, fingers barely brushing his skin as if she was afraid to touch him. "Welcome back, Sherlock. We... we've missed you so much," she said.

"Where's John?"

She flinched. "Behind the Gates, waiting at your flat. I... I'd take you there, but I... I can't," she said softly, quietly.

He saw the hurt in her eyes, and biting his lip, Sherlock embraced her gently. "I'm sorry I cannot return your affections the way you desire, Molly Hooper. But know this: when I needed someone to turn to whom I could trust, I came to you. And for that, I shall be ever grateful." Leaning down, he pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, a simple 'thank you'.

She started at the touch, her eyes wide. Then she gasped and hissed in pain; muscle covered bone and blue-black feathers suddenly sprouted as her wings were restored, no longer just bone, but wholly functional. She blinked in shock, then laughed, a joyous sound. She wrapped her arms suddenly around Sherlock, still laughing, but crying as well, tears of joy. "Thank you," she whispered. "Thank you, Sherlock. And welcome home."

Hugging her tightly, Sherlock pressed one more kiss to her temple. "He's waiting at home?"

She nodded. "Go to him... he's waited so long..."

"Thank you. Thank you Molly!" With a cry of pure joy, Sherlock took off into the air, flying through the Gates. _Hold on, John. I'm coming Home_! (1)

oOoOo

John sat in his chair at his flat and looked into his mug of tea. He knew that Sherlock would be home soon... but he'd made it a point to not ask Molly when. Whenever Sherlock was home, he'd get there... even if John had to wait longer than he wanted. He started as he heard a knock at the door. He went and opened it and was promptly bowled over by a mass of black feathers, black curls, and long white limbs.

"JOHN! JOHNJOHNJOHN!!"

He froze. Then he blinked. "Sh-Sherlock?" he said quietly. His shocked face gave way to an ear-to-ear grin, tears filling his eyes. "SHERLOCK!!!" he cried out, holding his best friend to his chest, pressing fervent kisses to the curly head in front of him.

The Watcher held the blonde Angel tightly in his arms, pressing his face into the jumper and taking a deep breath... _old books, antiseptic, tea, **John**_. "I'm back, John. I made it."

The Healer half-laughed, half-sobbed. "You did. You're home. You came back to me..."

Pulling back enough to look up at John from where he knelt on the floor, Sherlock tilted his head slightly. "Of course I came back. Are you doubting my promises now?" he added, teasing.

"Never."

"Good." Tugging, Sherlock pulled John to the floor and cupped the tan face with his long, pale fingers. "I think I dreamt of you all these years. Flashes of blonde hair, blue eyes, your laughter, your smile... your lips."

John flushed. "I've thought of nothing but you since Mycroft gave us that day together," he admitted.

"How long has it been for you?"

"Two months, or near enough."

"Sixty years," he murmured. "I wish we'd done this sooner. There is so much lost time to make up."

The Healer nodded. "But now, we have nothing but time," he murmured before capturing Sherlock's mouth in a kiss, the first kiss they had had as divine beings. The taller Angel's eyes fluttered shut, and a low moan escaped his lips before Sherlock was kissing back with abandon. John's lips were so soft and warm, pliant and yielding for only a moment before he took over.

The Healer wound his fingers in Sherlock's dark curls as he took control of the kiss, his tongue gently asking for entrance to Sherlock's mouth, lapping at the seam of his lips.

The Watcher could feel his toes curling as he opened his mouth, positively whimpering as John explored; he took his time learning the contours of Sherlock's mouth, the taste of his tongue, and the feel of his teeth. Breaking the kiss for air, he peppered little kisses along Sherlock's jaw and down his neck before looking into the bright eyes of the being he loved so dearly.

"I love you, John. I love you so much... and I... well I... I was wondering..." The former detective gazed at the Angel, his thumb brushing a stray lock of hair out of his eyes. "I was hoping, actually that you might... let me touch your wings again."

"Oh God, yes," John breathed out. He slowly extended them, the feathers catching the light from the windows, shining white and gold in the sun. Slowly, almost like a child, Sherlock stretched out his hands and brushed the beautiful sandy wings. His fingertips danced over the bones and threaded through the soft down as he studied and learned them.

John groaned, his head falling back and his eyes closing as he felt the sensation of Sherlock touching his wings and his feather shoot through him. It felt indescribably good, even better than his kiss.

"What does it feel like, John?" He stroked the topmost bone that gave them shape.

"F-feels amazing," he said, slightly breathless. "Like you're touching my soul. Can think of you and _only_ you. Not like I was doing anything other than that anyway," he said, chuckling a bit.

"Would... would you..." The taller being trailed off, uncertain all of a sudden.

John cupped Sherlock's face in his hands and pressed a kiss to his mouth. "You want me to touch yours?" he asked gently, looking him in the eyes.

Sherlock nodded, biting his lower lip. He'd never felt this awkward about anything before, but it was such an intimate gesture the he wasn't exactly sure what to do. It was one thing to touch John's wings, to give him pleasure that way... but a small part of him was still terrified that this was all a dream. John reached out slowly and brushed his hands along the shiny black feathers that made up Sherlock's new wings. He breathed a soft sigh. "You're so beautiful," he murmured, tracing the pinions and running his fingers through the soft down.

The Watcher's eyes widened as his mind struggled to take in all the new sensations. It truly felt as though John was stroking his very soul, the center of his being. "Not like you, John," he finally gasped out.

John rumbled a chuckle. "We're both beautiful, so call it even," he said.

Running his fingers back through John's feathers, Sherlock kissed him again, deeply but briefly before pulling back and resting their foreheads together. "You're finally _mine_ ," he whispered. "Part of me is still convinced I am dreaming. So very human of me."

"Well, you _were_ one for sixty years," John said. "And of course. I'm yours. From now 'til always, I'm yours."

"As I shall be yours. Forever and ever."

John smiled and kissed him once more. "Amen."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1)- This kind of a renewal of energy will make sensations and emotions stronger than normal, hence the emergence of Sherlock's boyishness through the rest of the scene.
> 
> And there we are! God, we just churn out stuff like it's nobody's business. Thank you ever so much for reading, and keep en eye on our other works.
> 
> Cheers.

**Author's Note:**

> Reviews are welcome!! Please let us know what you think


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